SG13 The Cylon War
by ShadowXV
Summary: What happens when Earth is informed about a group of unknown humans by the Asgard and Earth with some help sneaks in an SG team. I got a new beta we are currently going through all chapters.
1. Chapter 1

`I want to thank the Betas who help me with this story Darth been around from the start, and I think I broke his mind a few times. The next is Liz the Daughter of Apollo while they could not help long they did help me with the story. The last is Scribe-Editor my new beta who has done a lot of work to help clean up all the chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate in anyway shape or form the lucky people of MGM do. I also do not own Battlestar Galactica the people of NBC own it. I am only writing the story for fun and nothing else.

 **Stargate Thirteen The Cylon War**

 **by ShadowXV**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Beginnings**

*Earth*

It was a new age for the people of Earth for they now knew that they were not alone in the universe.

Less than a year ago, the System Lord Anubis had attempted to devastate the planet. Rather than just bombard it from orbit, he had landed his Jaffa and Kull warriors to systematically remove the Tau'ri menace permanently. Many of the dead were military fighting to defend their homelands or caught in the initial bombardment, dying as the Holocaust fell. The rest were civilian, dying on the ground or in the aircraft deliberately shot down by marauding Death Gliders.

It was only because of the diligent efforts of SG-1 that the Earth was saved. But what was saved was never the same again.

In the aftermath, as the world dug itself out of the rubble, representatives from many of the surviving governments converged on the United Nations building. In an almost unified voice, the UN body demanded answers. But what was even more startling was that they got them.

The IOA Alliance, stumbling in its relative youth, slowly and carefully narrated the tale of the Stargate, and the SGC, starting with the rebellion in Egypt and ending with the most recent events. Even with the extraordinary restraint shown by some members (and understandable dismay shown by others), the session took days to work through. But by the time they were done they as a group had laid aside their differences and accomplished what even the most optimistic skeptics said was impossible; the foundation for a workable world government.

The Unified Earth Government (UEG) was based on the United Nations (UN), with the exception that any joining member would have its military amalgamated into one group called the Earth Defense Forces (EDF). Almost immediately, all IOA members were involved with other major countries joining shortly after. By the one year anniversary of Anubis' attack, 90% of the world's nations were part of the UEG, albeit some yielding to the immense pressure of neighboring countries. Those that did not join did not dare attack in fear of what the joint forces of the EDF would do in return.

At the same time, SG-1 was not idle. Teal'c and Major Carter used, and lost, the altered cargo ship to contact and request help from the Asgard to "fix" Colonel O'Neill. There they witnessed the Replicators escape from their "Time Prison", and Major Carter's abduction by the replicator "Five". Thor traveled to Earth to pick up Colonel O'Neill from the Antarctic stasis pod, and Daniel Jackson from the SGC and then return to the Asgard homeworld of Orilla. Between the Ancient Knowledge possessed by Colonel O'Neill and the technology of the Asgard, a weapon was made that ended the replicator threat down to the last bug. Thankfully Major Carter was found safe and sound amongst the debris.

With the final defeat of the Replicators, Thor returned SG-1 to Earth. With the elections for World Prime Minister still a couple of months away, Thor spoke, for the first time, to the collective council of the EUG. With Earth's maturity beginning to show properly, and with the full approval of the Asgard High Council, Thor offered an exchange. An upgrade of technologies from the Asgard that Earth could understand and work with, in exchange for a more active role as the galaxy's "Fifth Race." These were improvements that Earth would have discovered by themselves over the next couple of years anyways. This meant clean energy for all and more efficient power systems to the ships that would be needed in the near future.

*SGC, Earth*

*10 months after Disclosure*

A newly promoted Brigadier General Jack O'Neill tiredly leaned back in his chair, shuddering at the mountain of paperwork on his desk. The Asgard had informed them of a group of worlds that were close cousins to Earth and thought it a good idea if the SGC were to check up on them. The worlds in question were heavily influenced by the Greco-Roman pantheon of gods and considered Earth to be a mythical lost colony of theirs. But at the same time, O'Neill noted, they had an industrial base that allowed them to field a considerable fleet of ships. That and the numbers of people they had to 'man' those ships could be a considerable ally if Earth ever needed them.

A knock on his door revealed a welcome break to his work. Waving the newly minted Lt. Colonel Carter to a seat, he begged, "Please tell me you have some good news?"

Smiling, Carter nodded.

"Thanks to the Asgard Beaming technology, we can make pretty well anything we want. The only trade-off is the energy required to 'create' it if the raw material is not on hand. We have several mining sites up and running to obtain the raw materials to build the initial fleet as quickly as possible. After that, we will focus on improving the supply chains to secure Earth and her colonies."

A pause and a deep breath, "At the moment we are building ships with Titanium and any conventional materials here that require as little power as possible. And, until the off world mines can provide the Naquadah, power for construction and ships operation will be slow in coming."

Nodding, O'Neill inquired, "How long until the major shipyards are up and operational?"

"We figure three months for the 303 yards and another four for the first of the 304 yards to be ready. Even with disclosure, the only bottlenecks are power and resources."

"Figures. That being said, the new Prime Minister agrees with the Asgard that we should make contact with these "Colonials" at some point. The new Secretary of Defense has gone so far as to order us to plan to deploy a long-term recon team to be inserted into one of their worlds."

Staring at O'Neill, Carter wondered aloud, "And how long will they be deployed?"

"Five years at least, but the odds are that they won't be pulled out until after first contact. There is just too much info we need to know about these "Colonials" before we can even begin to think about approaching them. The Asgard realizing this, have offered to slip our team on to their world and somehow set them up with basic life and language skills so they can melt into the general population. My only concern right now is who do I commit/condemn to a long term recon where they may not have anything to come back to or even come back at all?"

After a long, sobering pause, Carter piped up.

"What about Major Simpson's team, SG-13? At first glance, the team was only just brought together, but individually, the people have been a part of the SGC for years. Not only that, the collective skill sets that each member has to offer could work to deal with most eventualities. The downside is that those skills could be used back here as well."

Digging through the mound of paperwork, General O'Neill pulled out the folder for SG-13, allowing a small avalanche of others to fall to the floor. After a quick glance at a smirking Carter, O'Neill scanned the folder, taking in the team's notable highlights.

"I tend to agree with you on this one. On paper, they seem to be a good choice. Not to mention that most of the team has little or no family to speak of. My only concern is how they will react to how long they are supposed to be there?"

"Simpson is one hell of a pilot," noted Carter. "I would really hate to lose his expertise at a time like this. If I recall, he was one of the people watching our backs during Anubis' attack, making Ace in the process. Just recently, he assisted in the design of that top notch training plan we're now using to prepare the new 302 pilots."

"I know, I know!", mumbled the General. "You might as well get out of here, Carter. I'm going to need some time to think on this."

*SGC, Earth*

*2 days later*

Hearing a knock on his office door, General O'Neill raised his head. Spying Major Timothy Simpson, O'Neill waved the Major in with a simple, "Enter."

Saluting, Simpson responded, "Major Simpson reporting as ordered, Sir."

"Sit down, Major."

As he watched the major settle into the seat, O'Neill made a last silent assessment of the man.

"Major, your team has been chosen for a long-term reconnaissance mission. I'm not going to sugar coat it. You will be gone for five years, possibly longer. In fact, you may never return. Your objectives would be to monitor, observe and possibly assess how we would try to initiate first contact with them. The other members of your team have already agreed. It's just up to you."

The major held General O'Neill's gaze for a moment or two before nodding.

"If my team is going, then so am I."

A smile flickered across the general's face as he realized how much this team resembled his own SG-1. In a way, he could imagine the great trials this team would face, but also the great rewards they would reap in the future. Only time would tell.

"If that is the case, then you are hereby promoted to the rank of Colonel, with all the privileges and responsibilities therein," O'Neill stated, sliding the rank insignia across the desktop. "This promotion is to take effect immediately."

It was a stunned Colonel Simpson that stuttered back, "S-s-sir? Why a two rank promotion?"

"The reason is twofold, Colonel," replied a pensive O'Neill, as Simpson picked up the 'Birds.' "First, you've been with the program from almost the very beginning. The second reason is purely precautionary. In the event that you or any member of your team is found out, it is hoped that the Colonials will consider you more valuable and want to interrogate you rather than shoot you." Shrugging his shoulders, the general continued. "But then again, I could be wrong."

Pausing for a moment, O'Neill continued. "Now, get to the briefing room with the rest of your team. I'll be out in a moment."

Standing, the newly minted Colonel sharply saluted the General and walked out of the office and into the briefing room.

"Hey, Major," called out Captain Sean Wirges. "Do you have any idea what they have in mind for us?"

"What's the problem, Wirges? You afraid all of the plum assignments will go to the less deserving teams?," joked Lieutenant Joe Harris.

Simpson only offered a quiet shrug. Tossing his new rank insignia onto the briefing table, Tim settled himself into the nearest chair.

The silence was deafening as the other three teammates looked on in disbelief.

"Colonel. Colonel!," muttered Lieutenant Jennifer Simmons, breaking the ice. "Dang! That means I now have to call you Sir!"

"As you should, Lieutenant," announced General O'Neill, as he entered the room. "At ease everyone. We've got a briefing to get through and not much time for you to prepare."

Taking a seat at the head of the table, the general gestured with the remote. The screen at the other end began displaying information.

"People, this is going to be your new home for the next few years. From what the Asgard can tell us, they call themselves the Twelve Colonies. They were originally from the world called Kobol until a cataclysm of some sort forced them to relocate to the Cyrannus star system. There each colony developed on their own world's based on their version of Ancient Greek society. While all of them worship the Greek Pantheon, each world has its own dialects and customs."

"The curious thing is," paused O'Neill, "They all have a common myth where Earth is supposedly a missing/lost 13th tribe. As this could be either good or bad, your job, since you accepted it, is to live among them, learn their ways, and try to get a feel for their technology. The most important detail is to try to gauge how they could possibly react if their 'long lost brother's and sister's' were to contact them."

Leaning back in his chair, Colonel Simpson pondered the assignment before he spoke.

"So, what you want is for us as a team to live among these 'Colonials' and spy on them?"

"No!", was the sharp reply. "Keep your observations to any civilian technology and operations. This should include government, aerospace, medical, urban infrastructure, everything. Just try to keep from any military encounters, if possible. Word has it that Colonial Intelligence is excellent at what they do."

"In the event, you are caught, we're hoping that being SG-13 and from Earth will keep them from harming you. In the long run, any information you can acquire during your stay, especially on ship construction, would be a great benefit."

"This is all good," commented Harris, "But how do you suppose we are going to pull this off? Of 12 Worlds, which should we go to, speak the language, interact with the population at large? I, for one, don't know Greek outside of math equations, and would probably stick out like a sore thumb ordering at a restaurant."

General O'Neill gave them one of his trademark smirks.

"The ancient "head sucker" thingy."

"WHAT?", came the collective gasp.

"Relax, relax. In exchange for sharing any information we gather from this mission, the Asgard have offered to transport and insert you on the planet 'Caprica.' On the way, you will spend time in one of their "educational pods" where your bodies will be prepared, and all of the necessary language skills, customs, and any other idiosyncrasies will be downloaded into your brains. Considering the length of the voyage, you should be able to absorb the information more readily and a lot less painfully than what I had to."

"Well that's a relief," snarked Wirges. "And here I was worrying about 'going ancient.'"

"That's enough out of you, Mister," warned O'Neill. "I could have Thor make an exception just for you! Now out of here, the lot of you. You have 48 hours before you need to report back. Make the most of it."

Amidst a chorus of "yes sir"s, the team exited the briefing room.

As diverse as the team was, so were their choice of places. While Harris spent time with what family he had left, Wirges and Simmons enjoyed the music and atmosphere of at an out of the way pub discussing, and planning for what was to come. Tim, on the other hand, chose a quiet lake his family commonly visited to try to come to terms with his regrets.

Light from the setting sun sparkled on the lake in front of Colonel Simpson. Tossing a couple of his sister's favorite flowers on to the waves, he thought back to the last time he had seen her. Roughly two years ago, on one of his rare days off, he had been able to join her and her family on these very shores. It had started out okay but quickly turned ugly when he wouldn't/couldn't answer questions about his work. Turning away she declared she would never talk to him until he could answer her truthfully. Painfully he walked away.

The battle with Anubis had ended in a pyrrhic victory. Oh sure the invading fleet was destroyed or repulsed, but so were many innocent victims; his sister's town amongst them. He and his fellow 302 pilots did the best that they could, but in the end still felt like they had let the world down when they were needed most.

A scuffed footstep on the turf brought Simpson from his musings. As the steps stopped nearby, he looked around.

"Can I help you, General O'Neill?"

"Oh for crying out loud, Tim! Neither of us is in uniform, so just call me Jack."

"Okay, JACK," smirked Tim, "what brings you to such an out-of-the-way place like this?"

"Having known you for so long, it wasn't hard to figure you'd like to take a moment at your family's favorite lake," commented Jack. "And with the time you'll be spending on this mission, you will be missed not only by the SGC family at large but also by your fellow pilots.

"True," nodded Simpson. "And with the rumors of that newly upgraded 302 going into testing, they're going to have their hands full. What are we up to now, the Mark 4?"

Jack, wide eyed, shook his head.

"How the hell did that get out?! It's still classified Top Secret!"

"Trust me, Jack," replied Tim. "Classified or not, pilots keep each other informed. Especially if there is something out there that we can use to put paid on what the snakes did to the earth."

"If that's the case," grinned O'Neill, "as a going away present, I'd like to give you first crack at the new prototype. For an hour or two; just to work out the kinks."

"Okay, but why me?"

"Mainly because you've had the most combat experience and because anyone else worth calling on is already out on assignment. You are also known for an unbiased view when critiquing situations, tactics, and performances. Besides, it'll give you a chance to get in some last licks at your old buddies X-Man and Iceman. They'll be up there just itching to give the prototype a pasting. What do you say?"

Simpson looked back with a feral grin on his face.

The following morning found Simpson security cleared and getting his first look at the new fighter. It was a marked departure from the original 302 design. It was smaller in both its size and wing surface than its predecessor, while featuring one engine to the original three. The overall color was a charcoal gray instead of the traditional Gull Grey favored by Air Force Traditionalists. In Tim's opinion, it had a lot of resemblance to a Wraith Dart; its look spoke of speed and agility. These were certainly dangerous qualities when in the hands of a master. Simpson had remembered the first reports on the wraith darts that had been brought back to Earth.

"Like what you see, Colonel?"

A quick glance over Tim's shoulder showed a grinning General O'Neill quietly sauntering towards him.

"Are you sure this is an earth based design?" snarked Simpson. "I really wouldn't want to go through what you did with the X-301. Then it was an annoyance: now it would be a complete embarrassment."

"Oi," mocked O'Neill, gesturing to the ceiling. "One mistake and everybody's a critic. This one is totally earth based. This F-302B has increased speed and maneuverability. She's armed with a rail gun in the nose and 2 Death Glider style plasma cannons in the wings. And before you ask, yes, someone finally reverses engineered the bloody things for OUR fighters for a change!"

"And the color?" queried Simpson.

"Yeah, yeah. Now you guys won't look like fireflies in the night sky! You wouldn't believe how many requests came in for THAT change." Quickly checking his watch, he continued. "Now, your flight suit is in the change room waiting for you. X-Man and Iceman will be airborne and waiting for you in about 30 minutes. When you're suited up, Dr. Lee will give you a quick rundown on the updates, and make any needed adjustments. Good hunting, Tim."

Offering a sketchy salute in return, Tim replied, "Thank you, Sir."

It took Tim longer to slip on his flight suit. Unlike the previous cloth and "G-suit" extras he was used to, this was a full-body pressure suit designed to protect the pilot in case of loss of atmosphere in the cockpit. Meticulous care had to be observed while closing up the various seal points; especially at the neck and wrists. One mistake and the pilot could be breathing vacuum very quickly. Tim was just about finished when Dr. Lee entered the change room.

"Ah! Colonel Simpson. Suited up I see."

"And you, doctor, seem anxious to bring me up to speed on all of the new gizmos and improvements, eh?"

Minutes later Tim taxied to the end of the runway, contacting the tower for clearance.

"Tower, this is 302B. Awaiting clearance for taking off."

"302B, this is the tower. You are cleared for take off. Take heading 265 for departure lane to Checkpoint Charlie for access to the test range."

Tower, 302B. Copy. Beginning test flight now."

Keeping silent, Simpson applied power and felt the nimble fighter almost leap from the ground. Fighting his usual instincts to manhandle the controls, he instead manipulated them with finesse and "kid gloves". The results were surprising, but at the same time unnerving. Tim could see that up, and coming pilots would either need the sensitivity dialed back a bit, or take considerably more time to adapt.

"X-Man, Iceman. I've got a contact, inbound, bearing 134. It looks like our friend has come out to play."

"Copy, Iceman. Looks like he'll pass us on our left. I'm on your right, a little low."

"Tally Ho, X-man. I've got the lead."

Engaging the unknown plane, Iceman and X-man were hard pressed to keep up with the other plane. The three planes danced in the sky, each jockeying for that ultimate kill position, but never quite succeeding. At one point, the unknown bogey had passed the two planes and executed an unexpected 180 degree flip over, almost catching Iceman in its crosshairs.

X-Man cursed out loud, "Damn it, Ice! Who the hell is flying that thing?!"

Hearing the tone for an impending missile lock, X-Man attempted a quick roll and dive to try to break radar lock. No such luck. Half way through the maneuver, his systems indicated he had been killed.

"That's it, Ice. I'm out."

Watching his wingman's demise, Iceman muttered a quiet curse. "X, the only one I can figure that to be is Kage. Everyone else has been assigned somewhere. But the last I heard he'd been tagged for some long term op."

"Yeah, but we all need to keep up our skills, don't we boys," quipped Simpson, as he slid into position behind Iceman for the 'kill.' "You shouldn't let your guard down there, Ice. Doesn't look professional."

"Uh-huh. You just got lucky!"

"If you say so, but just to make sure how about we go for the best two out of three?"

The 'games' lasted for ages (at least in pilot terms), only to be ended by dire threats from the traffic controller and the low fuel indicator on their displays. The debrief that followed acknowledged the fighter's worth as Earth's potential newest Aerospace Superiority Fighter. Even General O'Neill cracked a knowing smile as he listened in on the various wins and losses experienced by the three pilots. Colonel Simpson's concern about the control sensitivity was acknowledged, with plans for adjustment or extended training periods to compensate.

The get together at the bar was just as enthusiastic as it was bittersweet, knowing it would be a long time before the next sharing of "war stories."

*Asgard ship "O'Neill II"*

*Colonial controlled space*

Supreme Commander Thor, of the Asgard fleet, stood watching over the four members in their "educational" pods. Educational in the sense that their bodies were being prepared for the world that they were about to join. This included immunities, biology's, anything that would allow them to survive as if they'd been born there. The required knowledge, however, came from the familiar tendrils of light to playing over the four team mates. The Ancient with him gesturing was implanting and educating them what it meant to be, speak, and behave as a Colonial.

"I do regret you had to lie to your friend O'Neill. How you are getting this team into the Colonies is not important right now. Why is. "

Thor, watching her 'work', mused aloud, "The People of Earth are connected to the Twelve Colonies, but not as simple as the Colonials would like to think. It was that difference in the 13th tribe that has helped make the Tau'ri who they are today. Regretfully that part of their joint history was lost during the unsettled times after Ra was driven off the planet.

The Ancient, smiling, replied, "True. It was a great shame that the original 13 tribes could not get along. I am hopeful that this time will be different."

Thor looked thoughtfully at his resting charges.

"Knowing the Tau'ri, Earth will not simply allow themselves to be absorbed and become the 13th colony of Kobol. They've worked too long and hard to simply give up what they have become. But if your plan works then Earth will have an ally besides ourselves amongst the stars that can help them even more than we had been able to in the past."

Allowing the tendrils to fade, she watched the sleeping SG team.

"It's done. They will be able to move in and out of colonies with ease. I made sure that all paperwork is in place so they could join the general population on Caprica with as little trouble as possible. Once the Tau'ri discover the truth, I am sure they will be annoyed and upset with what was done but do not blame yourself, Thor. After all, it is my people that are asking for you to do this."

Characteristic of all departing Ancients, the woman melted into bright light and faded away. Thor just watched the empty space a few minutes, thinking, before he began waking the SG team.

Timothy Simpson, sitting up in the pod, began stretching and scratching from his week long 'nap'. Finally, sure he was himself; he rose and joined his teammates looking down at a strange new world.

"So, are we finally there?"

"No," replied Thor. "This is the world of Kobol. It is the world that the 12 tribes claim they originated from in the first place. At least that is what their Sacred Scrolls and prophecies claim. If there was a prior world, that knowledge was lost ages ago. Kobol still seems to be recovering from some disaster; be it natural or man-made, I am not yet able to determine."

"This world would be a great place for a base," mused Joe Harris, "But I guess the Colonies would have first dibs on it. Right?"

Thor simply nodded. After a pause, the Asgard ship began moving, shifting into the familiar sight of hyperspace. Thor continued.

"We will be exiting hyperspace just outside Colonial sensor range. We will then proceed under cloak to the capitol world of Caprica. There is a secluded nature preserve where you will be transported. This is to be our drop off and pick up point."

"Your identities have been arranged in the government network. You have finances set aside to get you started, but the rest is up to you. Are you ready?"

"As ready as we'll ever be, Thor," replied Jennifer Simmons. "And thanks for everything."

"Yeah, thanks, Thor," commented Wirges. "Hope to see you in a couple of years or so."

Arriving over Caprica, the cloaked O'Neill carefully inserted itself into orbit around the planet. Once SG-13 were transported into the remote reserve, Thor took a moment to observe the bustling activities of the local population. These Colonials were similar to their Tau'ri counterparts, he mused; so bold, so full of themselves, and yet just as different.

After doing a passive scan of the local ships, the O'Neilr broke orbit, leaving the system and SG-13 to their own adventures.


	2. Meetings

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate in anyway shape or form the lucky people of MGM do. I also do not own Battlestar Galactica the people of NBC own it. I am only writing the story for fun and nothing else.

 ***SG-13***

 ***Chapter two***

 ***Meetings***

*Earth, SGC *

*4 months later*

Colonel Simpson "walked" the halls of the SGC heading toward General O'Neill office. In reality, it was his mind in Airman Bean's body that made its way to General O'Neill's office. SG-13 had been given, by the Asgard, a prototype of the Ancient Long Range Communication device. It was supposed to allow them to switch places with people back on Earth so that the team could report in. Being smaller than the original, it was far easier to conceal and use than a long range subspace transmitter.

It had been a long four months. Getting the required information had been easy for his team. Whatever objectives they had been given to do, had been done. Over the past month, they had been able to acquire the basic ship design details that the EDF had needed for their own fleet. All in all, things went very smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that Simpson wondered if this might not be due more to the Asgard assistance than Earth realized.

The team felt that this had been a dream assignment. So simple, so well prepared, that seemingly nothing could go wrong. As a society, life on Caprica was the same as in any major city on earth, but it was not without its strangeness. Newspapers with cut corners, heavy religious overtones were some of the more blatant examples. Nothing the team could cope with but enough for each of them to long for a return to their "normality". Each of them continually hoped Murphy would hold off dropping the other shoe.

Colonel Simpson could hear an ongoing "discussion" between Generals Hammond and O'Neill as he meandered down the corridor. Approaching the office door, it became very clear what the argument was all about. Murphy's curse was finally showing up.

"General Hammond, respectfully, I need that team back here, now, regardless of what the New Earth Intelligence Agency says," growled O'Neill. "That team has a skill set that we need right now. Badly. We lost 11.5 million troops worldwide not to mention the 22 million civilian deaths we can account for. General, I need Simpson and his team here. They should be out in the field or training people to replace the ones we lost during the attack.

Hammond looking at O'Neill, replied, "Look, Jack, I understand, but the truth is we have no way to get that team out without the Asgard. Our fleet is stretched too thin. Even with the new 304s we do not have the ships. We barely completed the first five and are hard pressed to speed up construction of the rest. If that wasn't enough the Wraith are starting to gear up for a major attack on Atlantis. We were fortunate that the Asgard saw fit to equip SG-13 with a long range communications device; at least there we can keep in contact with them easier then with Atlantis.

Simpson cleared his throat to interrupt the two officers.

"Excuse me General's."

Hammond glanced over and replied, "Yes Airman?"

"Sorry Sir, it's not Airman Beans, it's Colonel Simpson."

O'Neill, frowning, quickly glanced up at Simpson.

"Is everything ok Colonel? You're days ahead of schedule for your next report."

"Everything is going just fine Sir. My team and I just wanted to submit this month's report and then arrange to get out of the Colonies.

"When we first arrived on Caprica, there was a lot to do. And with the knowledge the Asgard 'educated' us with; things seemed to work out absurdly easily. But now that the mission objectives have been accomplished, we are getting antsy to move on to the next assignment. To put it bluntly, we as a team are feeling rather useless at the moment. And now with what I just overheard, we need to be back here; now more than ever.

Hammond took a long, strange look at Simpson; almost remembering similar arguments he had had with a former 2IC.

"I'm sorry son. I know you were hoping to pull your team out when you completed your mission. It's just not possible at this time. If it wasn't just the lack of transportation, the new Secretary of Defense for Earth and the Prime Minister both want your team to be our eyes and ears in the Colonies. I am sorry, but these orders are final. Excuse me."

And with that, General Hammond quietly left the office.

Colonel Simpson turned and eyed General O'Neill quizzically.

"Sir, are things as bad as I heard you say?"

"As you know, most of what was flying at the time was lost during the battle," O'Neill sighed. "The hardest hit, world wide, were civilian aircraft and the older reserve fighters, like what we use in the Air National Guard. Only the more advanced fighters seem to have a chance at fighting back, but even then we lost too many."

"Our best estimate pegs the loss at about 100 to 200 million worldwide. Initially the losses weren't too bad, but when you take in the collateral damage from things like dams and nuclear power plants, things just spiraled out of control. Even with the help we're getting from the Asgard, cleanup and rebuilding is coming along very slowly.

Tim paled as the reality of things finally began to sink in.

"That's men…,women…. and children, Sir?"

"Yeah," responded O'Neill. "Military losses were estimated to be about 30 million, worldwide. The truth of the matter is, that two rank promotion you received would have been coming either way. The losses we suffered have created a significant gap in skilled senior officers. If you weren't off-world right now, you'd either be training new 302 pilots or commanding one of Earth's new ships. Your team would be called upon similarly."

"And it was because of this loss that the new government was given so much power; the people want revenge on the Goa'uld and they will get it. We have millions around the world joining the new EDF, but the problem is we lack the skilled people to teach them what they need to know."

Simpson nodded his head and said, "So any idea when we are coming home, Sir?"

"With the new government is still getting its legs," O'Neill commented, shaking his head, "it's most likely you are going to be there until we make contact. I am sorry."

"If that is the case, do I have permission to inform my team, Sir."

O'Neill just nodded.

"Get going Colonel. I'll see you for your next monthly check in."

With that, Tim broke contact and woke back up in the Colonies. As he looked around at each of his team mates, they knew it wasn't good news.

"Okay campers. Gather round," began Simpson. "It looks like we're not going anywhere soon. So, make yourselves comfy, 'cause we've got a lot to talk about."

As Tim narrated his meeting with Hammond and O'Neill, there were many interruptions from his teammates as they expressed their opinions, dismay, and absolute disbelief. The final order had the ominous thud of a life sentence that none of them had deserved.

"With all due respect, Sir, but has command lost its ever-loving,' raggedy-ann minds?!" muttered Joe Harris. "I, for one, want to be back on the first available transport back home to help stick it to those damned snakes!"

"I agree with Harris, Sir," added Simmons. "With how well things have gone with the assignment, I'm not too worried about Colonial Intelligence breaking down the door. But with the hell that everyone back home is going through, I'm ashamed to be doing nothing but twiddling my thumbs."

"I know! I know!," muttered Simpson. "I even said as much to both Generals Hammond and O'Neill. But because the Asgard are rarely around these days, and the new PM and SecDef prefer having eyes on the Colonials, we're stuck here for the foreseeable future. I wouldn't hand in those notices just yet, folks."

Back at the SGC, Jack O'Neill leaned back in his chair, rubbing both hands over his face. Try as he may, he just couldn't get the disappointed look on Simpson's face out of his mind. It felt like he just kicked the family puppy for his own frustration. Aaaargh!

A quiet knock on the door broke his moment of private torment.

"What was that all about,Sir?," inquired Carter. "Pretty much half the floor heard the two of you going at it, and if the rumor mill is up to speed, the rest of the base should know in about it in an hour or two."

"Oh, hell!", groaned Jack. "Hammond was here to relay orders keeping SG-13 on assignment. What sucked, even more, was that Colonel Simpson reported in early. He figured it might help expedite the team's quick return."

"Crap! I guess that didn't go over well?"

"No, it didn't. The way Simpson tried to plead his case with Hammond, it reminded me of, well, me; especially when I tried to wheedle things for you guys. It was both a proud and disheartening moment."

"Well, sir, I was only dropping by to say good bye," commented Carter. "I'm on my way to take command of the new R&D centre. I hear there are some novel ideas that they want developed as quickly as possible."

"With you in charge, I know those ideas will become a reality before we know it. It was an honor serving with you, Colonel."

"No sir, the honour was all mine," smiled Carter. "Good luck, Jack. I know you'll get them home as soon as you can."

*SG-13 – Caprica*

*14 months after insertion*

It had been a long year. Contrary to their own feelings, most of the team found work in their chosen fields; Simpson was flying, Simmons was nursing at a local hospital, and Wirges was happily playing computron guru. Harris, with his multitude of talents, chose to take a quieter approach and worked security for a local manufacturer. It was fulfilling but each of them still had the strong desire to go home, to help.

Back home, significant changes had taken place. The Goa'uld had been dealt a crippling blow. Through concerted efforts by the Tau'ri, the rebel Jaffa, and the stalwart Asgard, the Goa'uld empires were shattered leaving them on the run from their former slaves and vassals. Peace was finally beginning to spread across this section of the galaxy.

Tim took a slow measured look at his surroundings as he approached the familiar building. Like other team building activities, SG-13 participated in 'movie' night as a way of relaxing and supporting one another. Tonight was special, mused Tim as he habitually kept lookout for any 'tails'. Tonight was the Second Anniversary of Anubis' failed assault on Earth.

Approaching Joe's door, Simpson knocked three times, counted to five, and knocked twice more. The door opened revealing Joe in part of his security uniform.

"Oi! You getting slow and lazy without me minding you?" joked Simpson.

"Naw. Just a late colleague at work, and "good" friends who just won't give me the time to change. Jenn and Sean beat you here for a change."

Tim noticed the others relaxing on the couch as he stepped into the apartment. Joe closed and locked the door behind him.

"Is it good or bad?" mused Tim out loud.

"Oh, you never know. This time, it's family issues," Harris responded, as he waved a sensor about the room.

"Clear."

"Sheesh. With how well we've integrated into their society," muttered Wirges, "I'm starting to think that the Colonials don't have any idea or even care that we're here."

"Whoa! Whoa!", retorted Jenn Simmons. "What are you trying to do here, bring Murphy down on our heads? Nice way to jinx us, Sean."

"Now, now, people," commented Simpson. "We seem to have the situation well in hand right now, but I agree with Simmons. There's no reason to let security get lax."

"Something tells me that's easier said than done, sir," responded Harris. "We were able to get employment in our respective fields. You fly, Jenn's a nurse, Sean's a 'computron' guru, and I'm into security; each of us as complete unknowns in our fields. I'm wondering more of when, not if, red flags are going to pop up from some of our 'unexpected' abilities surfacing. You, sir," Harris pointed to Simpson, "should have had more scrutiny into your background after the way you handled that emergency landing a couple of months back. I'm actually wondering what the Asgard aren't telling us about the profiles they arranged for us in the Colonial Database."

"I also wonder, Joe," replied Simpson. "But for tonight can we just take it easy and relax?"

"Yeah, I guess, considering what tonight is supposed to be all about," admitted Harris. "I've got a place in mind. It's a lot like O'Malley's back home and it even has one of those VR systems they used to train the early viper pilots with. The only downside is it's a major hangout for the Colonial Fleet Officers. If our Colonel here shows off too much of his hotshot abilities, we might gain more attention than we'd care for."

*Crash Down Bar*

*Caprica City*

The bar was much as what Harris had advertised. One side was covered in tables with comfortable chairs and benches along one wall. The other side was a dance floor with an electronic entertainment system (jukebox) on the back wall. The walls were festooned with pictures, notes, and unit insignias of various colonial military groups. Although predominantly military, there was a healthy civilian population enjoying the sights and sounds.

Although not full, there was an enthusiastic crowd in attendance. Once they had entered the bar, Simpson and his team found themselves a remote table along the back wall of the bar. With a little patience waiting for one of the servers, Tim finally ordered and paid for the first round of drinks. Even with a solemn purpose of remembrance and reflection, it wasn't long before some of the more zany memories had the team cracking a smile, or groaning in embarrassment.

Being the main attraction of the bar, the VR viper game was an obsolete training system that was no longer utilized by the Colonial Fleet. Here it was a novelty item showing the civilian population what it was like to fly a Mark one and two Viper from the Cylon war 40 years ago. With a little cajoling from his team mates, and much trepidation, Tim agreed to rent the VR gear from the bar to get a feel for flying the older style viper. The management assured him that he could keep to the solo play mode which would allow him to practice and eventually take on "Cylon" attacks.

While Tim logged into the system and began familiarizing himself with the controls, his teammates began to scan the other occupants of the bar. Very quickly they were able to separate the obvious civilians from the true battle-hardened pilots. They could see the same "change" in the others that showed on Tim's face after he returned from Anubis' assault. It was interesting to see that although so far apart, both 'families' were eerily similar.

As part of the setup, the system had asked Simpson if he wanted to use a call sign. It amused his team to no end that he had entered "Kage", but it made sense. It took a little while to get use to the flight controls. The Reaction Control System (RCS) on the viper used a series of thrusters to change the direction the fighter was pointed in. This was different from the atmospheric style flying Simpson was used to in the X-302s back home. It took some time, some wins and some very embarrassing losses, before Simpson felt confident in handling his 'bird'.

And it was then that Murphy decided to jigger the system.

Tim had just told the system that he was ready for the next cylon raider attack when the image in his VR goggles 'jumped'. Instead of a moon, or asteroid field with a series of inbound raiders, he was faced with the side view of a couple of battlestars spewing out a massive flak barrage and a lone viper showing the tag "Starbuck". His team mates, looking up at the large wall-mounted video screen, also noticed the change. No longer showing solo play, the screen indicated that it was now a one-on-one match; Lt. Kara "Starbuck" Thrace vs. Timothy "Kage" Simpson.

"What the hell," muttered Harris, as he turned towards Wirges. "I thought this was supposed to stay in Solo Play mode for us. As much as Tim could use the challenge, I really don't want to think of the attention this is going to attract."

"Yeah, well I warned you about Wirges jinxing us," growled Jenn. "Any idea who this 'Starbuck' character is? And please don't tell me they sell coffee!"

"Damned if I know," replied Harris. "But it looks like it's too late to reset the game. I'll keep my eyes open."

As the bar looked on, the overhead screen split to show the two pilot's points of view. The condescending chuckle from the military crowd seemed to fade away as the battle progressed; both pilots gaining and losing the advantage, dancing around and trying to go for the kill. What was supposed to have been an enjoyable evening for Simpson was quickly becoming a certifiable pain in the mikta. Whoever this "Starbuck' was, they certainly had talent and training, and that spoke military; something they were trying to avoid in the first place.

As the battle progressed, Tim found himself hard pressed to return fire. 'Starbuck' was pressing the situation at every turn, forcing Simpson to jink and deke out of the line of fire with everything he had. At the last moment, using the blinding flare of a flak gun, Tim slipped around the outside of the flight pod to hide between the main hull and the pod itself. Cutting power to everything but life support, Tim took the opportunity to regroup and re-assess the situation.

Looking proudly on, his team could only begin to appreciate the skill Tim had employed during the battle on Earth. Starbuck was probably better trained, but Tim had the experience. It was all summed up in Harris' comment, "Clever as hell, man. Clever as hell!"

From Starbuck's point of view, what was supposed to be a challenging run against Apollo, was now going to be a walk in the park dealing with this rook 'Kage'. Smiling, she began with textbook maneuvers; and missed. As the smile slowly faded, she was forced to use harder and harder tactics to deal with this interloper that had dared to come into her playground. The frustration mounted higher and higher.

Commander William Adama looked up at the screen, following the combat as it increased in complexity. The sound of someone removing headgear momentarily distracted him from the onscreen drama. Nearby, with sister and brother looking on in surprise, Lee 'Apollo' Adama finished placing the VR helmet and goggles on the table in front of him.

"So," smirked Sarah, the youngest of the three, "Giving up to Kara already, big brother?"

"No," said Lee, shaking his head. "Something went wrong with the system and put someone else up against her. Any idea which poor rookie got pitted against her?"

"No rookie, but a civilian," noted Zak. "One Timothy Simpson, using the call sign 'Kage.' Usually, fleet pilots include rank listings out of courtesy to others, but there's no mention of any rank listed here.

As the unknown pilot quickly evaded opening fire from Kara, Sarah 'Athena' Adama began studying the encounter closely.

"The fact that he's still alive is a surprise. Starbuck must be having kittens over this."

"Kara is letting her ego get the better of her," noted the senior Adama. "If she's not careful, it could be her undoing."

In his eyes, William Adama could easily see that Starbuck was clearly the better trained Viper pilot, able to use the machine to its limits. But where the other pilot lacked the skills, he clearly made better use of his surroundings, evading fire, throwing Kara off her game. The way she was reacting, he could see Kara's frustration level building. Sooner or later this would cause her to make mistakes.

"He may not be the better pilot," observed Lee. "but he's playing a good defensive game; almost goading Kara to take him out."

Taking a casual look at the crowd, Saul Tigh noticed other fleet members with VR gear in hand or on the tables in front of them, enraptured by the conflict unfolding on the overhead video display. The typical rumble of background voices had diminished to quiet gasps and encouragements as each cheered on their chosen favourite, but afraid to disturb the growing tension and concentration of the two combatants. The only difference was a group of four civilians gathered at a table against the far wall, one of them struggling inside his VR equipment.

"Hey, Bill," muttered Tigh, tipping his head towards the civilians. "Wanna bet that could be your mystery pilot?"

William Adama took in the group Saul Tigh was indicating. Of the entire bar, Kara, and this civilian were the only two fully involved in the VR battle. A flash and a slight outburst from the crowd returned his attention to the screen, just in time to see Starbuck lose track of Simpson through the burst of fire from the flak cannons.

"Clever and smart," smirked Adama. "He used the flak guns to cover his retreat, and to give him a chance to hide in the shadows of the flight pod. By going dark, he's setting himself up to ambush Kara. Ballsy, I have to give him, but why try such a crazy move on an experience pilot?"

As the fight dragged on, Simpson was getting tired of this 'Starbuck' or whoever they were. Between the diving, and jinking to keep himself alive, tactics, and even worse, memories from that battle on Earth were coming to the fore and haunting his decisions. Once hiding in the shadow of the flight pod, Tim assessed and steeled himself for the inevitable showdown with both Starbuck and his own demons.

Starbuck? She was just pissed a some rook, no, make that some fleet jerk blindsided her to make a point. Although this 'Kage' had disappeared from sight, the game was still running. This meant he/she was still around waiting to take a shot at her. Mind you, if this 'Kage' was in the same boat as she was, he would be low on fuel, tired, and ready to try almost anything to end this.

Bringing her viper around and below the stern thrusters of the Battlestar, a small flash on the inside of the flight pod caught her attention. She quickly flipped bird around firing on the mystery pilot. And died. Frustrated by it all, she yanked her sweaty headset off to look up and see what the final tally was. The overhead screen indicated that both pilots had succeeded in scoring a kill, making the match a draw. She could not believe her eyes.

There was a moment of silence as the rest of the bar took in what had just happened. It was assumed to be an easy kill for Starbuck but escalated into a one-on-one that had the makings of something legendary. The silence was first broken with simple, "Did you see…"s, and, "'What the frak?!"s, before rolling into a grand crescendo of whoops and cheers for both combatants.

"Be sure to get some information on him," William mentioned to Lee. "I know for a fact that someone in the fleet will want to recruit him. With all the Viper Rookies here, I know word is going to get back that Starbuck finally found a challenge. It's going to be a while before she lives that down."

"Oh, I know! Kara is really pissed," remarked Lee. "I mean, not only did she let her ego get the better of her, making mistakes she would have never done under normal circumstances, but then, this 'Tim' person pulls a stunt so outlandish that no one in their right mind would have considered or even dreamt it up. This one is definitely for the record books!"

"That's for sure," agreed William. "And, because it wasn't a clear-cut victory, don't you think it's time that Kara should buy a round for the table? Maybe even include the guy that gave her so much of a challenge while we're at it?"

"I'm on it," chuckled Lee. "Be back in a minute."

"OK, that was SO not fun!", Muttered Simpson, as he dropped his VR rig onto the table. Hearing silence from his friends, he raised his head to notice questioning looks on the others, but also a very bemused smirk on Harris's face.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing special, Tim. Only that you took out a Colonial Lieutenant, and if the comments I'm hearing are correct, one of their better hotshots, to boot."

"Aww crap!", muttered Tim, as he bounced his forehead on the table. "Oh please say it ain't so! Tell me it was some average person in that simulation that I was having a rough time dealing with!"

"I'm afraid not, 'Kage,'" announced a strange voice. "My name is Lee Adama. Can I assume I can congratulate you for beating Starbuck?"

Simpson looked up to give a tired gaze, as Lee approached their table.

"I couldn't call that a win, Lee, given that if it was a real fight, I would be very much dead. I got lucky. That's all."

"Well, considering that this is the first time that she's had her ass handed to her like that, Kara's buying a round for our table. If you want, I'd like to include you and your friends as well."

"Well, a battle like that does make one parched, so, I guess… sure! Why not."

Making their way across the room, Simpson dropped of his equipment, with thanks to a staff member. Surprisingly, he was given a full refund. The management was more than pleased with the results of the encounter. All of their other equipment had been quickly rented out to other 'hopeful' Viper jocks throughout the bar. Some okay, but the rest having understandably disastrous results.

As they approached Lee's table, Tim was confronted by a decidedly pissed blonde.

"So, you're the lucky rookie," Kara declared, poking Tim in the chest. "What branch of the service are you from? You know its standard courtesy to include your rank when you sign in!"

"While it's true that I am a rookie, Starbuck," smirked Simpson, deflecting the offending digit, "I'm not in the Fleet. I fly charter runs all over, using whatever I need to get the job done. I've done everything from cargo to tours for the political Elite. You get the picture?"

"Yeah," muttered Kara. "Maybe. But that doesn't explain all of it…."

Slipping past Kara, Tim, and his friends made their way over to Lee's table.

"Welcome," rumbled William. "And thank you for entertainment we haven't seen in quite a while. I'm William Adama, my wife, Carolyn. Over there is Saul Tigh, and his wife, Ellen. This is my youngest, Sarah, there's Zak, and you've already met Lee. And the grumpy blonde over there is Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace, the gracious hostess of this round of drinks. All hail the conquering hero."

"As I mentioned to Lee, Sir," replied Tim, "in a real fight, we'd both be dead. That wouldn't be much of a victory to speak of. I'd just like to consider it a well-fought challenge and hope I never have to meet her like that again."

'Interesting,' thought William to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sarah eyeing the man, giving him a closer scrutiny. William chuckled to himself wondering what was in store there.

"Forgive my poor manners," began Tim. "I'd like to introduce myself and my companions; to my left, the stalwart Joe Harris, to my right, the lovely Jennifer Simmons, behind me, the nerdy Sean Wirges, and me, I'm Tim Simpson."

"Alright," grumbled Saul. "Enough with the introductions. Take a seat. Your drinks are getting warm!"

Everyone took their seats, and the animated rounds of conversation began.

Harris had seated himself with some trepidation, worried that they might have exposed themselves more than necessary. But as the evening progressed, he realized that refusing would have created bigger issues. Taking time to relax, Joe began enjoying the first real social gathering he'd been to for a very long time.

Tim sat back enjoying his drink and observing the others at the table. A glance out of the corner of his eye caught Sarah studying him intently. If she was another pilot he would almost imagine a radar hard lock on target and ready to fire. That was one person he was going to want to avoid at any cost right now. On the other hand, he could see how William looked at the four of them, assessing, thinking, sizing them up. Someone Tim could more easily deal with.

"So, sir," commented Simpson, "Besides the drinks, why did you want me and my friends to join you?"

"Smart," responded Adama. "and tactful. I wanted to meet the man who could beat Kara. For your information, she is one of the top Viper Instructors. So, for her to lose in this fashion is one hell of a shock. Don't be surprised if you get an invitation to join the fleet."

Simpson chuckled and took a sip of his drink.

"Thanks but no thanks. I get paid very well to fly people and things around. I doubt the fleet could tempt me out of my current job anytime soon."

As the night wore on, the conversation and drinks flowed freely. Tim enjoyed seeing his team drinking and talking up a storm. Before too long Kara had had enough, dragging Zak out to the dance floor. It wasn't very long after that the rest of Tim's team followed suit with various fleet members. Simpson begged off, claiming the fight had taken enough out of him. Instead Simpson and Adama continued their conversation, enjoying the flow of topics. Privately he chuckled when he saw Apollo and Jen dancing together, but frowned when Sean sent a less than professional look their way. 'Gonna have to have a talk with that boy,' he thought to himself

"I think it time I headed out," groaned Tim, as he stood and stretched. "It looks like my friends are in good hands. Me, I just want to relax in peace and quiet."

"Have a good night, Tim," nodded Adama. "I am sure we will meet again very soon."

Tim paused for a moment and cast a quizzical look as if to say, 'is there something you know…?' Shaking it off, Tim strode towards the entrance of the bar. He never made it. On some sort of signal from Kara, Sarah moved in and dragged Tim out onto the dance floor. William shook his head and chuckled out loud.

Carolyn Adama looked at her husband, warily. "Did you know that was going to happen?"

"I wasn't sure," admitted William, grinning, "but she had her eye on him since the fight. And I don't mean casually. Still, it's a shame he isn't interested in joining the fleet; he'd make a hell of a good pilot. But if he works for the company that I think he does, then it would take a lot more to entice him over."

Out on the dance floor, Sarah smirked at Tim. "You didn't think you were going to get away that easily, did you?"

Simpson rolled his eyes. "Well, after that terrifying duel-to-the-death match up with Kara, I was hoping to wind down to some peace and quiet. So, why did you stop me?"

Sarah offered him a carnivorous smile that made him pause. And said, "I am your self-appointed spoils of battle. You will be taking me out every day for the next week until my leave is up. And no, you will not get a choice in the matter. I really want to get to know the man who beat Kara. And, at the same time, I want to change your mind on a few things."

Muttering something under his breath, Simpson replied, "I can still say no..."

A gleam enter Sarah's eye as she slowly leans in closer to him, whispering something in his ear. Simpson's face and ears glow a dark crimson hue.

*EDF Headquarters*

*Earth*

The campaign to neutralize the Asuran threat had ended in a bittersweet victory. The planet, in a large part to the Asgard Anti-Replicator weapons, had been "irradiated", "killing" all replicators present. The downside was that they had lost five more of their precious "Daedalus" class ships. Still in recovery, the Tau'ri were stretched thin protecting themselves from the threats of the galaxy. They were going to need time to rebuild. The acquisition of Asura left the Tau'ri with plenty of raw materials, Drones, ZPM's for a decent start.

General Carter briefed the senior staff of the EDF on the technology that would take advantage of that start.

"Thanks to our research into Asgard Beaming Technology," she began, "we've been able to come up with a new way to build our ships. One that will not require the power that we would have been using the Asgard beams would."

Punching buttons on her console, a holographic display appeared in the middle of the circular table for all to see.

"This system is called the Phase Assembler Array or PDA for short." continued Carter. It breaks down any raw material we can find it and use it to build any asset we would need. Normally we could use any matter, organic or mineral, but we would need to feed it a lot to get the job done. This could speed up our ship construction considerably. Normally I would caution you about the power requirements, but in light of our recent take-over of Asura, that wouldn't be a problem. If I can get the council's approval, I would look into getting it integrated with the existing shipyards in orbit as quickly as possible.

Looking up from the image, Hammond questioned, "What raw materials would we need to feed into the PDA system?"

"In theory we could drop anything in it," replied Carter. "which would then be broken down to the basic sub-atomic particle and then re-constituted into the required elements and compounds needed to complete the work. Of course, if we were to mine the ore and feed it into the system, the PDA would be able to complete the job more quickly, and at a fraction of the power costs. For the short term, it might be a good idea to build a mining ship to prospect the asteroids for local resources. It's a veritable treasure trove out there, one that could keep us going for a long while."

General Hammond quickly glanced around the table. "Well done, General Carter," he said with a broad grin. "Get your people onto arranging the timings for the system integration, and the design for that mining ship you mentioned. I would appreciate some sort of report outlining the proposed time table this project will take."

"Yes Sir," smiled Carter. "You should have an email with that report sometime later today."

Clearing his throat, General Chekov addressed the gathering.

"This is a good thing that we are progressing," he began, "But, I have been getting weird and disturbing reports from the sensor buoys we had placed near Colonial space. It seems that the Cylons are beginning to gather along the border. We're not sure if this is an intimidation tactic, or if they are planning some sort of offensive. All we are sure of is, at the moment, there is no active war/conflict between the two sides."

"When Colonel Simpson reported in last month," frowned Hammond, "there was no mention of anything weird going on in the Colonies. Maybe it's just the Cylons rattling sabers, showing the Colonies they are still around."

"You may be right," admitted General Chekov, "But just the same, we're going to keep an eye on the area. If anything happens, and if it affects us, we will deal with it. For now our forces are gearing up to clean up Ba'al's leftover forces on, what world was that again….?"

*Battlestar Pegasus – BSG-62*

*Colonial Cylon Border*

*Three weeks later *

The Battlestars Pegasus coasted through space on a routine patrol of the border. The newly minted Admiral Helena Cain was working through paper work when the call went out for action stations.

"Pass the word, Commander to the CIC! Action stations, action stations. Set the ship to condition one!"

The CIC was a controlled frenzy as she entered. Approaching the plotting table, she glared at Colonel Belzen, demanding, "What in Hades is going on Colonel!?"

A bewildered Belzen looked back, responding, "Admiral. We just received a message, in the clear, stating that the Cylons had just launched a massive attack against all fleet shipyards and repair stations in Colonial Space!"


	3. The War Starts

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate in anyway shape or form the lucky people of MGM do. I also do not own Battlestar Galactica the people of NBC own it. I am only writing the story for fun and nothing else.

 **Sg-13 The Cylon War**

 ***Chapter 3***

 ***The War Starts***

 ***The Cylon War Room***

*Cylon Colony*

*One Week before the attack*

The elected leaders of the seven models of humanoid Cylons had gathered to assess the ongoing campaign to remove the human scourge from the galaxy. While the original plan was progressing as expected, the discovery and eradication of a pre-industrial, non-Colonial world of humans had made some of the Cylons just a bit edgy. So much so, that the leader of the One's was insisting that the timetable be moved up, and the destruction of Colonial targets begin immediately.

Six, looking incredulously at One, scornfully questioned his reasoning.

"Are you frakking' insane?! The planning and organizing of this operation took years of infiltration and observation. It was determined, then, that a long-term approach was our best option. And so far, barring anything unexpected, it should succeed spectacularly. And now, you just want to ignore the plan and start hitting Colonial targets?"

One, or John as he was also known, shook his head as he gazed at the other models.

"No, I'm not in favor ignoring the plan," he explained. "But, remember, we've found evidence of non-Colonial Humans when we wiped out that one human world."

The Eight interjected, "So we encounter a second group of humans. That's no reason to speed up the plan."

"Admittedly, it had no technology to speak of," responded John, "but the point is what happens if another is discovered? And what if that one, has tech on it, decides to ally itself with the Colonies? All I am suggesting is we hit the Colonials now. The plan to hack their mainframe will take too much time."

There was a pause as the other models considered his thoughts.

"Maybe we will meet only one unknown human group," continued John. "But what if there are others? All I am suggesting is that we strike tomorrow; our targets will be the main shipyards and repair docks and all other major bases we can reach, and we do it simultaneously."

The Model Four responded, "If we can remove those main targets, and as long as the Colonial fleet can not find our main yards, we can rebuild and recover any losses faster than they ever will."

The Model Three then added, "Although it makes sense, I don't agree with this change right now. While this could shorten the war, if we cannot keep pressing the advantage, the Colonials will work like demons to recover and bring the fight to our doorstep."

The Eight sighed in resignation. "Let's take a vote then. If we reach consensus, we'll move forward. If not, not then we stick to the original plan."

Placing their hands on the mnemonic interfaces, all models entered the data stream to place their vote. It took only a few moments but when John realized consensus had been reached, he smiled.

"Send the orders to the fleet," he said. "Take us to within one jump range of the Colonies in preparation to attack primary targets first. After that, we will hit the fleet. Make sure the resurrection ships stay nearby; there is no sense losing anyone."

*Battlestar Triton*

*Scorpion Shipyards*

Changing out of her flight gear, Lt. Sarah 'Athena' Adama paused for a moment to looking at the photo of Tim and herself stuck to the inside of her locker door. She enjoyed the warm fuzzy feelings remembering the times and places the two of them spent while she was on leave. And looking forward to the feelings they would create on her next leave.

That moment was broken by warm breath and a voice near her ear.

"Oooh, what a hunk!"

Snapping her head to face the voice, she came face to face with her crewmate and good friend Tara.

"Crap! Would you stop doing that?!"

"What? And miss out on the hunky guy you're within the picture? Never! Who is he, anyways? And where did you find him? Does he have friends?"

"Tara! Calm down! His name is Tim, and we met at the Crashdown Bar a couple of weeks ago."

Tara studied the picture as the words slowly filtered into her mind. Her eyes widened and snapped back and forth between Sarah and the picture.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! The Crash Down? The VR game bar? Was that the time Starbuck bit off a bit more than she could handle?!"

"Weellll, yeah."

"Oooo, I like him already! What unit is he assigned to?"

"Down Girl! That's MY boyfriend you're talking about!" pouted Sarah. "He's not with the fleet, yet. I'm still trying to talk him into joining, but …."

"ACTION STATIONS! ACTION STATIONS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL. SET CONDITION ONE THROUGHOUT THE SHIP. ALL PILOTS TO THEIR PLANES. ACTION STATIONS. ACTION STATIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."

Although being startled, the crew of the Triton came together like a well-oiled machine, moving quickly to their duty stations. Ready Vipers were loaded into their launch tubes, while backups finished loading fuel and ammo, waiting their turn. Personnel had to watch their footing as the deck beneath their feet jerked from time to time, in response to the impact from the incoming ordinance.

The Cylons had caught the Colonial fleet flat footed, jumping in and immediately firing nukes at the Scorpion Fleet Yards. Much of the spider webbed slipways and repair bays were expanding debris clouds forming around each of various missile strikes. One Basestar moved on to engage the defense network around the planet once it had successfully nuked the local Fleet Headquarters station itself. Fifteen Battlestars and over fifty Support ships fell victim to this initial strike, with many sure to follow.

Having been warned, the Battlestar Valkyrie was set with its full Viper and Raptor complement deployed and ready. Shipboard weaponry was loaded and readied, waiting for the enemy that had yet come to Caprica. Looking over reports and tactical maps on the CIC plotting table, Commander William Adama glanced over to Colonel Tigh.

"What is the latest report about this attack?"

"I still don't believe it, but if the reports are correct, the god's damned toasters caught us with our pants down. Right now they're blowing the crap out of our fleet yards; between 55 to 75% destroyed, depending on who you'd want to believe. And that would include most ships docked in or near those yards waiting for maintenance.

Tim was in Low Caprican Orbit running a wannabe Viper Jock through his "check out" flight when things broke out. After hearing of his exploits at the Crashdown, Tim's employer decided to capitalize on it. Tim trained and flight-qualified in an obsolete tandem-seated suborbital trainer, later using it to "instruct", "qualify", or just to excite those who thought they had the talent. Some did, some were marginal, and some were a hazard just sitting on the tarmac. But to each, it was the thrill of a lifetime.

On the day of the attack, Tim had just finished this one kid's 'quals' when they found themselves surrounded by a flock of Vipers space bound. A quick check indicated that this was not some publicity stunt or a surprise training exercise, but Vipers on a mission. Simpson called in to check things out.

"Control, this is Kage. What the Hades is going on? I'm seeing more combat aircraft up here than what I did last Colonial Day."

"Kage, you'd better get your behind down here. I was about to call you to let you know. Rumour has it that the Cylons have just started an offensive, and the military wants all craft landed as of yesterday!"

"Copy that, Control. Kage is on his way down."

Toggling the intercom control, Tim apologized to his client for the abrupt end to the session citing that the military was ordering them down. And with a quick glance at the surrounding traffic, he dove the craft for the spaceport below, landing and shutting down in near record time. With post-flight and sign out accomplished, Tim bee-lined it to Joe's apartment.

The Harris apartment had become the de-facto 'home base' for most of the team's business. Not only was it local to the city and spaceport, but it was also larger than the others. It was also closest to the 'NEWS' (rumor) sources; so if something was up, you'd know about it there the fastest.

Once he was 'knocked' in, Simpson noticed he was the first to arrive. He turned to face Joe with a quizzical look on his face.

"Where is everybody?"

"Jenn got caught up at the hospital. Even though the Cylons haven't attacked the planet, it seems like they're preparing for any contingency from civilian casualties up to and including military cases flown in. Sean chose to remain where he was just to get some feel for how the Colonials, both military, and civilians, will handle the conflict. The network isn't quite like the internet back home, but it's the one place he feels most useful."

"Admirable," acknowledged Simpson. "I just hope he doesn't get caught doing it. Are all the pieces here?"

"Yeah," Joe nodded. "Sean dropped his and Jenn's pieces earlier, and yours are still here from the last time you reported in." With concern clearly in his voice, he quietly continued. "What are we going to do, Tim? We've been riding the edge gathering information on tech and Colonial life. Full involvement in this conflict could blow our covers for sure!"

"I know, Joe," replied Tim, "But I'm hoping that the people back home will have something constructive to offer us for a change. This 'wait and see' attitude is really rubbing me raw as it is."

Powering the device, Simpson sat down and initiated the process. There was a moment of disorientation as the two minds were swapped, but with a gentle shake of the head, Colonel Simpson was ready to carry on.

"Is there anything wrong, Airman?" questioned a nearby Captain.

"I am Colonel Simpson. I need to speak to General O'Neill immediately!"

"I know you fully briefed General O'Neill," began Hammond, "But could you please repeat it to the command staff before you."

The initial meeting with O'Neill had quickly escalated to a full debrief in front of the Tau'ri High Command. The presence of so many high-ranking officers in one room had Simpson elated and at the same time leery. The news he had to offer was a concern for humanity as a whole, but he was concerned what the cost would be to his team.

"Sirs. It is believed that the Cylons began an attack on Colonies a little over four hours ago. The main focus of the attack was their shipyards and any docked vessels, including any nearby control stations. The Colonials were taken by surprise.

"How bad is it, Colonel?" questioned General Hammond.

Simpson paused for a moment to think.

"If I had to hazard a guess, sir," he finally replied, "it's possible that the Colonials have lost the majority of their space borne slipways and repair docks. If, and I believe it was, the Cylons primary objective, then they succeeded spectacularly. This is all based on information Captain Wirges was able to gather before the Military lockdown of their "internet." It is my understanding that the Colonies will most likely lose this war mostly to attrition. Without help, they will not be able to rebuild in any reasonable amount of time."

"Colonel," spoke General Chekov, "What are the chances that the Cylons would stop with just the destruction of the Colonies? Would they consider any humans a threat?"

"I don't know, Sir," replied Simpson, frowning. "Most of the Colonials believe themselves to be the only humans in existence. Considering the Cyrannus cluster is a "dead zone" having very little to no sentient life, reinforces this belief. Why do you ask?"

"The Asgard recently informed us that one of the world's covered under their 'Protected Planets Treaty' had recently come under attack. It was a simple pre-industrial world with an agrarian society that had no potential for threat but was wiped out to the last individual. The Asgard were able to determine that the attack came from the Cylons themselves, but due to the ongoing 'Goa'uld Hunt' are unable spare any ships to deal with the Cylons at this time. As the fifth member of this racial coalition, they asked if we could do something to show their 'displeasure,' as they put it."

"Well if you wanted to make a substantial impact on the Cylons," replied Simpson, "A large assault on their infrastructure would leave a lasting impact."

"I wish we could Colonel, but the best we can do at this time is to commit to guerilla raids on shipyards, resources, and shipping where we can. Between building our ships, dealing with the Wraith and the few remaining systems Lords, we barely have any ships to spare. For the time being, the Colonials will have to handle the Cylons on their own. Of course, we will strike where and when we can."

"And what of me and my team, Sirs?" mused Simpson. "What do we do if they ask for our involvement?"

O'Neill looked down at the table as he responded.

"You answer the call, like every other patriotic Colonial, Colonel. I really wish there was some other answer, but there isn't." O'Neill raised his head, staring into Simpson's eyes. "But believe me when I say that we will keep looking into ways of getting you home, safe and sound."

"If it was anyone else, sir," responded Tim, staring back, "I'd say they were full of it. But from you, I know I can take it to the bank. Until the next time General."

Joe noticed when Tim returned. The somber look on his leader's face spoke, but not the whole story.

"Sooo. When are we getting out of here?"

"We're not. Things are a bit bigger than we expected. The EDF now believe that the Cylons have it in for any humans, not just the Colonials. A world under the Asgard PPT was wiped out to the last person, and the Asgard know the Cylons did it. We've been asked to help deal with them."

"Knowing it's only a matter of time, what do we do when the draft notices start flying?"

Tim looked Joe straight in the eye.

"I asked General O'Neill that exact question. His answer, 'We answer the call, like good Colonials'."

Wearily Tim turned and leaned on the window sill. Looking down at the street below, he worried about Sarah, how to keep his team safe, and how bad the oncoming war would be.

Since the war began, it had been a long and brutal three months. Due to the fighting, flying assignments were sparse and hard to come by as companies didn't want to pay pilots extra for flying in hazardous conditions. While Simpson had more free time, he was not overly worried about money, having lived frugally and saved where he could.

What really bothered him were the news reports of the heavy losses the Colonies suffered early in the war. It seemed that every day he was hearing of this person or that had receiving their draft notice. At this rate he wondered when any member of his team would be called, considering the skills he and Jenn Simmons had were the most desired by the military at this time. At that point, their safety was beyond his control, and that bothered him the most.

On the brighter side, the Cylon offensive had eased considerably giving the Colonials a much-needed chance to regroup and rebuild. Damaged shipyards were being repaired allowing them to repair the battle damaged ships and starting new ones. They could see the initial bleak look of the war was beginning to fade from the people's faces.

It was the next team night that reality rose up and hit them in the face. The mail had come in, and Jenn's number was up. They all stared at the paperwork she laid out on the kitchen table, including travel orders, and possible units she would be assigned. To everyone, it felt like a punch in the gut.

"It's okay guys," Jennifer sighed. "I'm surprised it took this long. A couple of others got their notices days before I did. Besides, I figured that Tim was going to get the call long before me, given the notoriety the mighty "Kage" has built up," she smirked.

"Its all street creds," replied Simpson. Looking at the paperwork, he commented, "Looks like the Colonial Army has gotten their claws into you. That means you'll be working at either base or field hospitals. Either way, please be careful, Jenn?"

"There's got to be something we can do, Tim!" muttered Sean. "This isn't our war. Hell, it's not even our world! Why should we fight and die here for someone else's mistakes? High Command's got to see it's time to pull us out and let these people deal with it themselves."

Joe looked on at him, knowingly. They had never acted on any of their feelings, but it was unspoken knowledge how close Sean and Jenn had become. Not that they had become unprofessional, but considering the time away from Earth, Home, it seemed natural that they'd be drawn together.

"I understand what you're saying, Sean," replied Harris, "but the time for pulling out has come and gone, and we all know that. High Command knows that. All we can do now is to try to survive this. And when, or if, our actions become known to the Colonials, maybe it will help Earth when they finally make First Contact."

"Okay, enough guys. It is what it is," commented Simpson. "I've heard from contacts within my old company that most of the other pilots have already been picked up by the fleet. It's most likely that I'm next on their list. Home can't get us right now, and there isn't a ship available that would be able to get us to a world with a Stargate on it within this lifetime. So, as your friend and CO, I say, 'Carpe Diem.' 'Seize the Day.' From here on out, live your lives as you see fit. Sean, even with Jenn serving as a Medic, there is no guarantee that she will ever be safe. Be with her, talk with her, and see where things go. Either way, please, have no regrets?"

Jenn quietly gave Tim a heartfelt hug, while, in the background, a damp-eyed Sean mouthed, 'Thank you.' Gathering what outerwear they came with, Sean and Jenn made a quick departure, conversing in whispers on the way.

Looking out his window, Joe watched the two making their way down the street.

"Do you really think that this is such a good idea, Tim?" he commented. "Do you have any idea what sort of response there will be back home?"

"For them," replied Tim, with a sad smile, "Anubis' attack removed anything to return to back home to. At least here they're facing a war with someone at their side. For now, just let them have something to look forward to. And as for back home, I'll deal with it if and when the time comes."

Harris gave Tim a strange piercing look. "You already got your notice, didn't you?" he queried.

"Yeah, I report in the day after tomorrow. But think about it. We're the only family those two have left now that the SGC has kinda left us to fend for ourselves. And you've seen how those two have come to depend on each other? To have me announce my drafting now might push things beyond what they can handle. Give them the illusion of stability, just a little longer."

"Tim, you might be crusty all over, but at the center of it all, you're gooey through and through."

"Yeah, well keep that sort of thing to yourself. I've got an image to maintain. Could you make the report this time? I'm going to spend a bit of quiet time before I report in."

"Sure, Tim," replied Harris. "And you keep safe as well, okay?"

Simpson flipped a sketchy salute over his shoulder, as he left the apartment.

War is hell.

Somehow that old Union General knew it as a universal constant; Lt. Jennifer Simmons of the Colonial Medical Corps could confirm it.

For the past four months, Jenn regaled Simpson with some of the zaniest training messes she had ever witnessed, all in the name of impressing friends, colleagues, prospective mates, you name it. And then reality intruded with the return of the Cylon offensive.

The signs had been there: Tim's quick Battlestar assignment soon followed by the increased caseloads of personnel and civilian injuries. The first cases were basic breaks and scrapes, things you'd normally see. But then came the burns, the breaks, the amputations. The worst were the children, the pain, and confusion in their eyes.

Sometimes, while on break, Jen would cry her heart out over the suffering, she had seen. With Tim around, it had been marginally easier to handle. But with his assignment, she counted the days to her next leave to see Joe and Sean. Especially Sean.

For some reason, the Cylons hadn't committed to an all-out assault on the Colonies. Recent targets had been Military in nature: Bases, equipment depots, shipping yards. This did not mean there wasn't any collateral damage. She figured the casualty count had to be numbering in the tens of thousands every time the Cylons attacked, but like all governments, the tally was kept quiet.

"Oh God," she prayed quietly to herself, "Please let it end soon!"

Lt. Simpson had been assigned to the Pegasus Viper wing for a month now gaining the reputation for being a respectable Viper Pilot. Having scored six kills to his credit so far meant that while he wasn't 'Sierra Hotel,' he was still dependable in a fight.

Being a loner, Simpson didn't really have that many friends. The ones that he did have he prized greatly; beginning with his first contact on the ship, Captain Kendra Shaw. It had been Kendra that had given him his orientation about the ship when he first came onboard, along with a quick dose of scuttlebutt over a coffee in the wardroom. It was this easy-going attitude that endeared this lady to most of the crew. Word had it that she had been assigned to the Pegasus to be a break to the Admiral's 'chip-on-the-shoulder' attitude to all Cylons. That had yet to be proven.

'Another day, another mission,' Simpson thought to himself.

Taking a seat at the rear of the room, Simpson waited with the other gathering pilots for the pending mission brief from the CAG, Captain Taylor. The more things change, Simpson mused, the more they stay the same. The same could have been said about basic and fitness training. Being the 'old' man of his group of inductees, there was concern that Simpson would have difficulty with the fitness requirements. But because of the team training sessions during 'civilian' life, Tim was able to handle the challenges; handle and work through them.

It was after the selection process that things began to progress. Basic and atmospheric combat were skills that were quickly re-mastered. Space combat was a little slower coming as there was a whole different universe of skills and thinking involved. As experienced as he was, he had to admit the Colonials had a better mastery of Space Combat. Earth had only started to expand out but still based their combat on atmospheric tactics. Tim could see those ideas would have to change.

As the CAG came into the room, the whole room stood at rose from their seats.

"Take your seats people," muttered Taylor. "Our recon ships found what looks like a major communications array, and our orders are to destroy it. Simple? No. While the Battlegroup is to launch an attack on the array, a special sensor raptor is to move in to download and record any data for our experts to try and decrypt the Cylons network. These orders come right from Admiral Cain herself. The raptor must be protected to complete its mission. All Viper wings are to fly BARCAP holding off any and all raiders. Is this clear? Alright, skids up in one hour."

Simpson chose to avoid the crush of pilots headed to the flight deck. In order to clear his mind, Tim wandered into the mess hall for a simple drink of water. Picking up his glass, he noticed Captain Shaw, sitting by herself, perusing some paperwork.

"Captain. Care for some company?"

"Lt.," responded Shaw. "Shouldn't you be on the flight deck doing a preflight on your viper?"

"Sure, but I need to do it with a clear mind. The gaggle that left the ready room were anything but calm," muttered Simpson. "Shouldn't you be in the CIC with the Admiral?"

"I'm on my way there now," admitted the Captain. "I just wanted to double check the intel. The

Admiral was concerned on how easy we'd gotten our hands on it. But Command, on the other hand, just wants the mission accomplished."

"Talk about your definition of expendable," groaned Simpson. "I really do hope the Admiral is wrong about her concerns."

Shaw smiled. "So does she. For now, please keep that to yourself, okay Kage?"

"Got it, Kendra. See you after the mission."

Captain Shaw watched Simpson's retreating as he left for the flight deck. The admiral might not like how they addressed each other when not on duty, but he was one friend she could solidly count on. Their conversations would touch on many things, politics, general scuttlebutt, but when it came to personal things, the silence was deafening. He would have nothing but the highest regard for his friends, but personal was just that.

The dark of space twinkled with flashes of light as the combined battle groups of the Pegasus and the Hermes completed their combat jumps. The initial DRADIS scan showed only the Array and a defensive cloud of raiders formed up around it. Just as the Intel had said. So far, so good.

"Pegasus Actual, to all ships," intoned Admiral Cain, "Pegasus Vipers to launch for mission objective, while Hermes Vipers are to fly defensive CAP for incoming Basestars."

As he left the launch tube, Simpson saw the blizzard of vipers forming up to take on the Raiders. As he was attempting to take his place, he received a call over the wireless.

"Kage, CAG. There's been a change of plans. I need you to take Blue Squadron to cover the Raptor. The rest of the fighter group will take care of the Raiders. Your main priority is the Raptor. Copy?"

"CAG, Kage. Copy that. Okay, Blue boys. Form up on me. We've drawn babysitting duty for the Raptor when it launches. Do you copy?"

With quick responses from the other pilots, Blue Squadron reformed to escort the special EW Raptor as it launched from the Pegasus. Off in the distance the fight between viper and raider could clearly be seen as a mix of spider webbed tracer fire and the occasional blossom of missile impact.

The majority of the battle had been drawn off by the rest of the fighter group. This seemed to leave the Raptor a chance to move in to do its task, but the admiral's concerns were soon to be realized.

20 minutes into the operation, a group of six basestars jumped in to surprise the Colonials. An initial strike of nukes dealt a heavy blow to the fighters, decimating the CAG and a majority of the squadron that had failed to properly space itself out. The following confusing was quickly reduced the offensive down to a turkey shoot for the benefit of the Cylons.

Watching the results with the rest of his squadron, Simpson could only mutter a few choice curses, some that even his squadron mates would question. "Raptor 325, Kage. Now would be the time to finish up and bug out to rally point Alpha. That's not a suggestion, but a blatant order. Is that clear?!"

Kage, Raptor 325. Copy. Bear has just finished, and we are bugging out. Good Luck to you all." And with that, the Raptor was gone in a flash of light.

Admiral Cain shakily pulled herself up the side of the CIC plotting table. That last missile strike had given the Pegasus a good shake knocking a couple of personnel from their stations. Major Fisk hadn't survived his landing on the nearby console, his neck twisted in an unnatural angle. A quick glance by Captain Shaw told her everything she needed to know.

"Report," Cain clipped out.

"We've taken three nukes in the opening exchange, while the Hermes took an additional two," replied Colonel Belzen. "The Vipers took an even bigger hit. They were still regrouping to react to the incoming raiders when they were hit. I figure we lost 40% of our birds as well as the CAG. The whole operation is turning into a frakking' furball."

"Fisk?"

"He's dead, Admiral," responded Shaw. "Broken neck from hitting the console."

"Congratulations, Shaw," announced Cain, "You've just been promoted. Get on it."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Ship's Status?"

Quickly scanning the status board, Shaw quickly responded. "We've taken some damage to the Port Flight pod and considerable damage to the Port Dorsal Armor Plating. No structural problems yet but there is a fire on Decks 14 and 32. Damage control says that they have it under control at this time."

"Any word about the Raptor?"

"It jumped out 30 seconds ago on Lt. Simpson's orders. It did what it could and then bugged out to save the Intel."

Further conversation was interrupted by a voice over the fighter TAC channel.

"Get your frakking' acts together, people. Remember your training. Break into two plane elements and get hunting! Watch out for flak fire from the Pegasus and the Hermes. The Cylons won't just wait for you to shoot them, so get a move on!"

Following on the DRADIS, Cain could see Blue Squadron, in paired elements, joining the fight to support their wingmates. Slowly, but surely, the rest of the Vipers followed Simpson's example, forcing the Raiders on the defensive once again.

"Damn," muttered Belzen, "at least Simpson got the Vipers to focus again. That can't be easy, especially after losing so many to that one nuke."

"Pegasus, Kage. We're going to need to withdraw soon. Many birds are reaching Bingo and Skosh. I can honestly tell you foul words and hand gestures won't be much help out here."

"Pegasus Actual to all Vipers. RTB now. Combat landings effective immediately."

"You heard her people. We've worn out our welcome here. Red, Blue and Gold squadrons will provide cover until all others are onboard. Then it will be Red, then Gold, with Blue dragging the bag. Move it! Move it! Move it!"

All eyes followed the DRADIS image as the Viper icons were quickly absorbed into both Battlestar flight pods. It was painful to see some wink out just before reaching the safety of the pod.

At the same time, preparations were made for the Battlestars jump from the area as quickly as possible. With the last plane onboard, and the flight pods retracted, the Pegasus and her group jumped out.

The Admiral felt nothing but pure fury. She knew this mission had cost her dearly; over 1500 men in this battle alone. Waste, waste, nothing but frakking waste. "I hope," she thought to herself, "that the data was worth the frakking cost."

*Battlestar Pegasus*

*Scorpio Fleet Yards*

*Three Days Later*

Fleet repair had taken full advantage of the Cylon pause to rebuild the shipyards as much as possible. It was because of this effort that the Pegasus found herself in one of those same slipways, being assessed and lined up for repairs. In her ready room on board the old girl, Admiral Cain reviewed the list of necessary repairs and signed off the last of her paperwork. The Butcher's Bill of materials and people lost, in her opinion, was the most unnecessary of all.

A quiet knock on the door broke her moment of concentration. With a sharp "Enter", Cain looked up.

Stepping in, Lt. Simpson and Cpt. Shaw stood at attention in front of Cain's desk. "Lt. Simpson and Captain Shaw reporting as ordered, Ma'am."

"At ease, both of you," Cain responded. "I know the two of you have been busy, dealing with the aftermath of that debacle command called a battle was the worst. I've had a chance to read over your after action reports, and I'm making some changes. Firstly, I'm promoting both of you to Major."

Smirking at seeing the shocked looks on their faces, Cain rose to congratulate them and hand over their new insignia.

"Major Shaw," you will now continue as ship's second officer," continued Cain, as she placed the insignia in Shaw's hands, "While you, Major Simpson, will take over full-time duties as CAG. Admittedly this is a field promotion, but being able to rally the troops and still being able to score 12 kills while coordinating a retreat at the same time would have pegged you as the next CAG, like it or not."

Major Simpson looked lost for words as he gazed at the package in his hands.

Major Shaw had no such problems. With a smile, she offered a quiet, "Thank you, Admiral", for the both of them. This promotion confirmed the trust she assumed she had from Cain in the first place. Simpson, on the other hand, had earned that trust, and in no small measure, acquired the Admiral's friendship at the same time. It did not, however, explain the look on Tim's face as if he'd committed the biggest blunder of his life. She'd have to talk to him about that later.

"Formalities aside, take a seat, both of you. We've got business to attend to."

As the two officers took their seats, Admiral Cain began the briefing.

"If you didn't already know, the Pegasus will be down for two months for Refit and Repair. This is to include any upgrades along with the repairs from that last battle. During this time I expect the two of you to take your respective departments in hand and do some housekeeping. Once that is done, take some leave. The way things are going, I suspect you are going to need it. Any questions?"

"Two months," remarked Shaw. "Admiral, I knew we took some damage but was it really that much?"

The Admiral shook her head. "It wasn't just the battle damage. They found an issue with the Jump Drive that necessitated the replacement of some of the major components; hence the two months."

"What about the new Viper Pilots, Admiral," piped up Simpson. "I've got the chief repairing the currently available Vipers, but we're going to need to replace the ones we've lost."

"Major, I'm assuming they will be a mix of survivors who've lost their ship and rooks fresh out of the academy. Either way, it'll be your job to train them hard and get them ready as quickly as you can. Understand?"

"Understood, Admiral."

"Anything else, people? If not, let's get started. Dismissed."


	4. Loss

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate in anyway shape or form the lucky people of MGM do. I also do not own Battlestar Galactica the people of NBC own it. I am only writing the story for fun and nothing else.

 **SG-13 The Cylon War**

 ***Chapter 4***

 ***Loss***

*Cylon Colony*

*Three Weeks Earlier*

'This is not good, not good indeed,' though One to himself, as he meandered the halls of the Cylon Colony ship. The opening strikes of the war had gone off without a hitch, causing massive damage to critical infrastructure and control centres across the Colonies. Precisely as One had predicted. It should have broken most of the Colonial will to fight, to curl up like whipped puppies to lick their wounds.

Instead, unexpectedly, the Cylons had suffered a major raid on a Tylium mine/refinery well within Cylon controlled space. It was an unheard of response if based on past experience. It should never have taken place, but it did. And if that wasn't enough, the shockwave generated by the massive explosion was enough to cripple a nearby shipyard used to build and maintain most of the current model basestars used in the war.

The damage was enough to put a halt to the beginning offensive for the better part of three months.

Taking full advantage of the situation, the Colonials scrambled to repair their ship yards. In the end they were able to repair enough of the damaged infrastructure to maintain their own defenses and possibly entertain the thoughts of rebuilding.

In the long run both sides had broken even, losses equaling gains. John's great scheme of a quick win was left moldering in the ashes of defeat. Even now, as he rambled through the Colony's halls, his influence quickly waning, the looks the other models gave him spoke the same message over and over. 'I told you so."

Entering the room of consensus, he announced, "We need to force the humans back on the defensive if we are going to have any chance of rebuilding our forces!"

A two looked at him in absolute disbelief.

"I don't see that happening anytime soon. At last count, the Colonials had at least 300 active Battlestars of varying classes with support ships. We are having difficulties just holding them off as it is and I doubt they will agree to another armistice since we were the ones to break this one."

"The original plan had us trying to manipulate their government for years," commented a Three, "in the hopes that policies put in place would reduce the Colonial Armed Forces to an ineffective shadow of its former self. Thanks to that impromptu attempt to kick start the fall of the Colonies, my contacts in Adar's Administration say that they haven't seen this much military support in years. Between the draft and voluntary enlistment, the Fleet alone will have enough people to man existing Battlestars and any others they will be able to build."

"Well then," remarked a Four, "our only option now is to crush the humans morale, and do it solidly enough to at least give us time to rebuild, or at best force another armistice."

"Attack! Attack!," wailed Eight. "Has Ones madness become THAT infectious?! And I suppose you have some sort of idea to make this happen, Four?!"

"By taking a page out of the Colonials own playbook," Four responded quietly. "We take almost half of the remaining fleet deep into Colonial controlled space, and blow Caprica City clean off the planet."

The resulting silence fell with a THUD in the conference room.

"By destroying their seat of power," continued Four, "it should demoralize them enough to cause two favourable reactions. First, it should stun them enough that we should be able to reduce their fleet strength, and secondly, it should cause them to instinctively draw back into their own space in a defensive posture, leaving us alone to rebuild."

Stunned, it took One a couple of minutes to voice a question.

"Why not reduce the planet to a glowing lifeless rock?"

"Two simple reasons: it would take more nukes than what we possess to totally carpet bomb the planet, and the Colonials would bring in enough battlestars to defend Caprica before we could get the job done. The main idea is to get them off our backs, not eliminate them, at least not for now."

"And the insanity just keeps spreading," muttered the Eight, "but as this seems to be the only workable idea we have on hand, do we have consensus?"

*CAGs Office*

*Battlestar Pegasus*

Major Simpson took a moment to lean back in his chair and scrub his face with his hands. His desk was littered with paperwork dealing with squadron rosters, nugget dossiers, hardware requirements, and potential training plans to bring his squadrons up to a survivable status. Ever since being assigned the position, Simpson had done everything he could to ensure the survival of his people. Some would take to the training and survive. The others…., well when their number was up, it was up.

The Pegasus was finally headed in for some well deserved dock time. The past six months had seen some fairly heavy combat, meaning that she and her crew were in need of some R+R. Tim was no exception. He, like everyone else, needed a chance to decompress, reset, whatever the psychologists wanted to call it. So, once his paperwork was done, nobody would be able to see him for dust.

There was a very good reason for this urgency; a goblet of ambrosia with his name on it, to be raised in toast at Sean and Jenn's upcoming wedding. There was no measure to the pride and happiness he felt for his team mates' decision when he had received the invitation. He tried to show those feelings, in true SGC fashion, when he replied that 'Undomesticated Equines' could never keep him from coming. The only disappointment would be that Sarah wouldn't be able to attend. She and the Triton were out on deployment and would not be back in time for the celebration.

A quiet scuffing of a boot heel on the hatch coaming broke through Simpson's daydream. Looking up, he noticed Admiral Cain regarding him with a smile and a slight shake of the head.

"Admiral. Something I can do for you, Ma'am?"

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for some well-earned leave, Major? The last time we had dock time, you spent most of it updating training, completing supply requisitions, anything but relaxing. I don't know if you realize it, but you've gained a reputation as one hades of a CAG that all the pilots look up to. And while I appreciate your dedication to duty, I also realize you also need a break."

"Oh I'm planning on it, Ma'am," replied Simpson. "As soon as the last detail on this training syllabus is finished, I'm off to see two good friends. It's their wedding tomorrow. We're to meet in Caprica City, and from there we're off to the temple in Delphi to solemnize and celebrate the ceremony."

Cain nodded enthusiastically.

"An excellent reason for leave, but I do hope you plan to take some time for yourself. It's good to be with friends, but after the partying I bet you and they will want some alone time. Especially you; the last couple of months have been hard on all of us."

"You won't hear any argument out of me, Admiral," Simpson commented wearily. "We've all earned some well-deserved leave."

The moment of quiet was broken by a blaring announcement over the tannoy.

"ACTION STATIONS. ACTION STATIONS. ALL PERSONNEL MAN YOUR ACTION STATIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ACTION STATIONS."

The two officers broke into a run to their respective stations; Cain to the CIC and Simpson to the Launch Bay.

Entering the CIC, Cain barked out, "Colonel, Status!"

"We've received reports of a Cylon attack on Caprica itself, Ma'am."

"Jump Drive status?"

"60 seconds from ready. All fighters being prepped for a Combat Jump, ready to be launched on arrival. Orders are to jump in to attack the Cylon force from the rear."

"Are the jump coordinates loaded and ready? Shipboard weaponry locked and loaded?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"What are those toasters thinking," Cain quietly muttered to Belzen. "From the reports I've read, the war hasn't gone too well for them lately. They've lost more ships that we have during the last couple of months, and now they're attempting this? Something must be up!"

"I guess we'll find out if and when the time comes, won't we Ma'am."

"Mr. Fasjovik," Admiral Cain called out loud. "Jump us as soon as the drive is ready. We need to hunt some toasters!"

*Battlestar Galactica*

*Caprica Orbit*

One of the basic tenets of battle is that plans never survive contact with the enemy.

The Colonial plans for a quiet recon deep in Cylon space were abruptly cast aside as a small flotilla of Basestars had made a surprise jump into Caprican space and immediately began firing on anything within reach. Within moments debris and panic spread throughout space.

One's initial satisfaction quickly turned to annoyance as the Battlestars again proved to be hardier opponents than he had anticipated. While the Raiders were able to blunt the Colonial 'teeth', the ship to ship weaponry was causing more than enough damage to the Basestars. Monitoring the progress One started to wonder if there would be anything left to complete the primary objective.

Tactical maps and reports lay strewn across the CIC plotting table as Admiral William Adama 'calmly' attempted to shore up an extremely defensive position. He'd been able to rein in the mounting panic with an initial flurry of orders. The morass of ships was fanning out to provide the beginnings of a 'shield' deployment. This was to offer maximum protection to the various assets from the widespread damage they'd come to expect from the Cylons.

Lt. Kara "Starbuck" Thrace-Adama was fully expecting to be a multiple Ace by the time this battle was over. Many of the Viper pilots would be as well; if they could survive it. The Raiders were more numerous than fireflies on a warm summers evening, except with a lot more bite to them. The wireless chatter clearly reflected the situation. The supportive cheering was intermixed with abruptly cut off cries for help as fighters from both sides were being shot down with frightening regularity.

"DRADIS is showing new contacts!," called out a bridge crewmember. "I'm getting Colonial IFF's. It's the Pegasus, Sir!"

"Is there any messages from the Pegasus?" queried Adama.

"Just now, Sir. Admiral Cain has instructions to assault the toasters from behind. The intent is for them to 'hammer' the Cylons on our 'anvil'."

"Understood," rumbled Adama.

Major Simpson had reached and boarded his viper moments before the command to jump was announced. Still not comfortable with the feeling, Tim suffered through a couple moments of post-jump nausea before clearing his mind for launch. During these precious minutes he took the time to observe how rapidly the ground crew cycled the line of Vipers through the launch tubes and into the ensuing battle. There were big differences between the Colonials and the Tau'ri, and he hoped he'd be able to report those differences back to Earth.

Space was filled as the entire complement of Pegasus Vipers and Raptors were launched to support the Galactica. The rest of Simpson's squadron formed up around him as they made their way to the battle, wing mates quickly sorting themselves out. With the Raptors in place supplying onsite intel, the true size and complexity of this furball quickly became apparent. The Galactica's Vipers were clearly overwhelmed and needed immediate assistance. Breaking into their elemental teams, the Pegasus Vipers punched through the cloud of Raiders to assist their Colonial teammates.

Listening to the Galactica wireless chatter it was clear that most fighters were either on or just about past their bingo and skosh points and needed to refuel and rearm. Simpson broke into the chatter.

"Galactica Vipers, this is Kage of the Pegasus. Sorry to be late for this dance but our invites got lost somewhere in the mail. If you are getting close to bingo or skosh, land now for resupply. We can hold the line until you get back."

"Kage," called out Starbuck. "As in Tim Simpson? 'Athena' told me you had joined the fleet."

"Yeah. I was drafted a while back," replied Simpson, as he downed his first Raider. "Apparently I hit flight school just after you transferred out. Shame. I would have liked to see what you could have taught me."

"Yeah, yeah," moaned Starbuck. "One fight and the guy thinks he's 'Sierra Hotel.'"

With a momentary smile of remembrance, Admiral Adama broke into the chatter.

"Kage, Galactica Actual. What are your standing orders?"

There was a pause as Tim flipped his fighter to take out another Raider.

"Galactica Actual, Kage. Our orders are to support the Galactica fighters and to hold the line."

Nodding to himself, Adama quickly replied, "Copy, Kage. All Galactica fighters! If you have not already done so, land immediately for refuel and rearm. Pegasus is here to hold the line until you return."

As the rearming/refueling of Vipers progressed, Adama quietly monitored DRADIS activity. What he was seeing concerned him greatly.

"Reports say that this attack is happening all over Colonial space," Adama commented to Colonel Tigh. "But for some reason the number of Basestars jumping in here has almost doubled since the start of the attack. Something is up. I don't know what it could be, but something is up."

One was starting to panic. His losses were far more than he had anticipated even with the reinforcements showing up on time. The Colonial defense line was also. It was a great relief that the "special" basestar arrived in-system. "About time," he muttered to himself. "Send the order for the two heavy Raiders to prepare for their run. Once they've delivered the "package" they can jump out and join us at the rally point."

For those studying the DRADIS display, the fight was beginning to take on a life of its own. The ebb and flow shifted from location to location. It acted as if it was searching patiently for something. And in the end find something, it did.

The Triton had taken several hits early in the battle: some to the dorsal armor plating, and a couple to each of the flight pods. The damage was nothing to really worry about, or so they thought. A lucky strike on the Port Pod had ruptured small feeder lines supplying Viper fuel and life support for the maintenance bay, starting a small fire. Damage control had been dispatched to deal with it. With harried efficiency they arrived on site to locate and extinguish it. Thinking it was done, they moved on to the next trouble spot. They were wrong.

The fire 'ate' its along a damaged conduit until it reached the main fuel reservoir. The resulting explosion shifted/twisted the Triton enough that incoming Cylon missiles missed the armor plating and struck the 'soft' under belly near the engine section. Internal explosions rippled from bow to stern showing up like glowing ugly blisters marring the streamline shape. The once proud battlestar was quickly reduced to an expanding cloud of dust and debris.

Up to this point the Cylons were becoming desperate. Any attempt to break through the Colonial defensive line was met with stiff resistance. With the destruction of the Triton, the Cylons had the opportunity they had been looking for. With all basestars barely holding their own, it was decided to implement One's plan with just the two heavy Raiders rather than include a large escort. And with that, the two Raiders were launched, to make a jump through the gap to the planet below.

*Caprica City*

With the beginning wail of the air raid sirens, the city quickly changed from the bustling metropolis that it was to a veritable ghost town. Most of the population had scattered to the various public bunkers seeking the safety that they offered. Others found shelter in basements, cellars, any place they felt the safest. A hardy few chose to watch what they could of the battle from the entrance ways, hoping to catch a glimpse of the brave Colonial Warriors as they vanquished their Cylon foes.

That victory was not to be as their end was written in the sky.

A small quick flash and accompanying contrail announced the arrival of the two heavy Raiders as they made their final approach to the objective point. Very quickly the tracings of the intercepting vipers joined the raiders, corkscrewing in and about the clouds in an intricate dance of death. At one point victory seemed assured as Colonial missiles homed in to make short work of the Raiders, but only one 'intercepted' the missiles creating an impressive blossom of death.

Hidden by the debris cloud of its dying wing mate, the primary Raider checked its position. Once it had confirmed it was in place, it launched the anti-ship missile at the city. Its task complete, the Raider activated its jump drive to get clear of the impending explosion.

Streaking towards the centre of the city, the missile quickly outstripped the pursuing Vipers attempts to shoot it down. The explosion, when it came, reduced the centre core to a smoking crater, while buildings surrounding the edge were melted and shattered by the heat and shockwave.

Laura Roslin, the Secretary of Education, had been caught at the hospital when the sirens began their wail. Her only warning was the initial flash of the bomb detonating over the city. Quickly she was blinded, by the searing heat that bubbled her skin and set fire to her hair. Mercy came moments later when the shockwave shattered the room's only window, slicing her into oblivion.

Sean and Jennifer's warning was when power to the hotel's Cloud 9 suite suddenly cut out. The following rumble and vibrations quickly reached catastrophic proportions as all surfaces surrounding them broke into table sized chunks. Ignoring the carnage around them, the two lovers clung desperately to each other to share one last bittersweet kiss. As the building collapsed beneath them, the surrounding dust cloud engulfed and swept them on to eternity.

*Cylon Command Ship*

It was with great relief that One witnessed the mushroom cloud billowing over the city's ruins. Without hesitation he sent the signal for all remaining Cylon forces to withdraw. They had accomplished what they had come to do. The loss of ships was higher than he had anticipated, but the blow they had dealt to the heart of the Colonies was worth it. It should, he hoped, swing the balance of power back to the Cylon Empire, and give them the time to rebuild the advantage. Cylons would again control the war.

Little did he know that by this one act he had doomed the Cylon race to destruction.

*Caprican Defense Line*

*Caprican Orbit*

The Colonial Forces endured the emotional rollercoaster ride that followed the abrupt withdrawal of the Cylon Basestars. The euphoric high of defeating the oppressive 'toaster' forces was quickly followed by the crushing low as they gazed on the radioactive ruins of their capital city. Although each warrior continually told themselves that they had done everything that they could have, the little voice in the back of their minds haunted them with the understanding that even that might not have been enough.

While all available Raptors were dispatched on SAR duties around the ruins of Caprica City, it was a somber group of Vipers that returned to their battlestars. Or, in the case of the recently dispossessed, any Battlestar that had room to take them in. Major Simpson was operating on autopilot as he gathered his despondent pilots back to the barn. Most of his charges were stunned, almost catatonic in disbelief and self-denial. This just could not have happened! There must be some mistake.

Simpson, on the other hand, was quietly simmering in anger. Not only was he pissed at the Cylons, but he was just as pissed at himself. How could he! This was twice he had failed the civilians he had sworn to protect. Not only that but two of his teammates had depended on him to keep them safe. He should have seen something to keep it from happening again, but now he could only see their faces and mentally apologized for letting them down.

His mood had not really improved after landing on the Pegasus. The others barely noticed him as he made his way back to his office. His After Action report was the hardest he had ever written. Several times he had to back up and erase scathing sections where he had almost placed the entire defeat upon himself. He was so wrapped up in his grief and self-loathing that he missed the quiet step that had announced Cain's arrival.

From past experience, Cain expected Major Simpson to be hard at work, using it to avoid dealing with the aftermath of some very hard fought battles. But in this case it seemed that he took it more personally; like the loss of his two close friends in the ruins of Caprica city. As she watched she noticed how he would pause, shake his head, and vigorously scratch out a portion of his report. Sometimes the same section would be redone several times, and other times he'd crumple the paper up and start fresh as if he was dealing with his own inner demons.

After a couple of minutes, the Admiral gently cleared her throat, startling Simpson out of his inner turmoil.

"Admiral! I'm sorry I didn't see you there. Is there something I can do for you?"

"No," Cain replied, "But there is something you can do for yourself. Put down the stylus and get out of here. Officially, you are on leave. Right now. You need to clear your head. The loss of this battle and, more importantly, your friends, has emotionally compromised you." Nodding towards the paperwork, she continued. "It's so bad that you can't complete something in the past that you wouldn't have wasted more than 5 minutes with."

Bristling at her comments, Tim was about to argue when he stopped himself. All the bravado and bluster seemed to leak out of him like a punctured balloon.

"You're right, Admiral," he admitted. "Just let me finish this and I'll be on my way."

"No," Cain countered quietly. "Leave it alone. It will be here when you get back. I'm going to need you with your head on straight when things really get going."

*Delphi*

*One week later*

With Joe looking on, Simpson kneeled to brush dirt and leaves away from the simple grave marker for Sean and Jennifer. Like so many others around them, the graves were empty, sometimes not even a casket. The bomb had either vapourized or destroyed the bodies as to make them unrecoverable. That is, of course, if you wanted to ignore the residual radiation to search the rubble.

"I hope they were together, in the end," murmured Tim.

"I'm sure they were, Tim," offered Harris, "I'm sure they were."

It was common knowledge that the long range communications device had been left in the care of Sean and Jennifer. And now with their loss, any means of contacting Earth was gone. Simpson and Harris were there until Earth chose to initiate first contact.

"Rest in peace my friends," offered Simpson, "and let everyone we've lost along the way know we are doing fine."

"I will miss you two," added Joe. "Nothing will ever be the same. And if you happen to run into Oma along the way, could you please see if she would cut us a break or two? Thanks."

After a few more moments of respectful silence, the two of them began walking to the entrance way to allow others the privacy to mourn their losses.

"I had heard from Sean that you were moving out of Caprica City. Something about nothing there to really challenge your 'giant' intellect," chuckled Simpson.

"Yeah, well after a while the security gig was starting to wear kinda thin. All standing around and making sure nobody got into things they weren't supposed to. Do you know how exciting it is trying to keep six year olds away from the stuffed Daggit heads? Sheeesh!"

Tim couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's lament.

"Anyway, I found something much more challenging here in Delphi. You are now looking at the basic technician/researcher for the Delphi Museum of Kobolian History," announced Joe.

"Not bad, old friend. Not bad," commented Simpson. "I suspect there will be various artifacts and curios floating around that are stumping them but just might make some sense to you. All the best to you, Joe."

"And to you too, Tim," replied Harris. "From all of us, stay safe, hear?

*Area 51*

*Earth*

*Two days later*

Her chair creaked and groaned as General Samantha Carter leaned back. She had been reviewing design changes for the Floating Dock that was in orbit around Earth. It was working well for the existing ship sizes, but with larger designs coming down the pipeline, it was only a matter of time before General O'Neill would need more room for his 'toys'.

It took a while to secure the materials, but finally the PDA construction system was getting into full production. The highest priority right now were the satellites and in-system ships they needed to defend the growing number of Earth's colonies. It was good that the Goa'uld system lords had been given a solid trouncing, but the galaxy still has it's secrets both sublime and grotesque.

Her musings were abruptly interrupted as O'Neill barged into her office, a serious thundercloud floating overhead.

"Sam, I'm hoping that the new shipyard can produce faster than our current ones, 'cause Daniel did it to us again!"

"How the hell did that happen?! The last time I heard he'd missed his chance at Atlantis and hadn't been off the Earth for the past few months."

"Do you remember, a little while ago, when that woman, Vala Mal Doran I think her name is, tried to steal the Prometheus?," Jack chuckled humorlessly, "Well she returned recently with a tablet alluding to a possible trove of ancient artifacts. In the process of discovering this collection, she and Daniel activated an ancient long, long range communications device. To make a long story short, they've encountered an offshoot of Ascended Ancients who demand that we worship them or die."

"Only Daniel, I swear. Only Daniel!," muttered Sam. "Has there been any news about SG-13?"

"All the Asgard could say was there had been an attack on the Colonial capital city. Captains Jennifer Simmons and Sean Wirges were in the city and died as a result of a nuclear explosion. Simpson and Harris are still alive. Because of location markers placed in their bodies, the Asgard were able to locate and retrieve the remains of Simmons and Wirges. Because they were so deeply buried in the rubble, no one is likely to notice."

"Damn! What a waste," sighed Carter. "Is there any chance we could have them pull Simpson and Harris out?"

"I had a long and vigorous talk with the Prime Minister and General Hammond," grumbled O'Neill. "Contrary to what I believe, it is felt that Simpson's continued service in the fleet would help us in the long run. Besides, his unexplained disappearance would draw too much unwanted attention. So, he and Harris stay there for now."

"Mistake after mistake after mistake," growled Carter. "They should have pulled the team out as soon as they had completed their mission. Remembering what it was like to lose Daniel, I can only just imagine what they must feel losing two of their teammates, especially when those two were about to be married. That is, if the rumours were true?"

"Oh, it was truth alright. Captain Harris reported that Simpson had blatantly encouraged it, just before he and Simmons responded to their draft notices. I realize this beats the hell out of the 'non-frat' regulations, but I'm backing him up on this. As soon as the remains are decontaminated, I have orders in place to have them interred in a joint grave. I will never be accused of separating a husband and wife."

Her eyes were glistening, Sam asked in a quiet voice, "When will the funeral take place?"

"From what I've been told, two days from now. Every one from the SGC is planning to be there; at least the ones involved before disclosure. Family looks after one another."

*Delphi*

*Caprica*

*One Week Later*

Tim Simpson sat and gazed somberly out of his hotel window into the darkening evening sky. Placing his interlaced fingers at the back of his head, he leaned back and stretched, forcing the stiffening joints to pop and creak in complaint.

He was bored. He was depressed.

Admiral Cain had placed him on one month's leave, and he had no idea what to do with himself. Joe, at least, had thrown himself into his new job with the Delphi Museum. More to deal with his case of survivor's guilt Tim figured.

Tim had no such distraction.

The theatre in Tim's mind repeatedly played the battle over and over. From time to time, images from the encounter on Earth would splice themselves in, until it became one great mélange. Cylon Raiders shooting down Terran Airliners. Goa'uld Death Gliders being shot down by Colonial Vipers. This kept going on and on until the images of Caprica and San Francisco lying in ruins became so intermixed he couldn't tell one from the other.

'ENOUGH,' Tim mentally shouted at himself. 'This isn't getting me anywhere.'

Abruptly rising from his chair, Tim realized that staying here wasn't going to help his mental issues. He needed to get out, walk, breath the night air, do something to help him cope. Even, he finally thought, to hit a bar to quietly toast his fallen comrades. With purpose in his step, Tim quickly showered and dressed according to his dark mood, black slacks and dress shirt.

Not knowing the city, he was reminded of a bar that Joe had recommended; one that felt like home. Soon Tim found himself in a comfortable couch, drink in hand, soaking up the very 'homey' atmosphere. If he closed his eyes and shifted himself just so, he would swear he was back at O'Malley's, away from all this insanity and pain.

"Hey, Tim. Do you mind some company?"

Abruptly breaking from his quiet 'happy place', Simpson found himself looking into the very friendly eyes of someone he thought was far away.

"Sarah! What are you doing here? I thought you'd been deployed out along the border somewhere!"

"You kinda need a ship to be deployed," she gently chided. "The Triton went down during the battle over Caprica. I lost a lot of good friends that day. But then, to hear it from Joe, we both did."

"Yeah," sighed Tim, gesturing to the couch. "Instead of raising a happy toast, I'm here sipping one in quiet memory. It's strange how things can change so quickly in so little time. The funny thing is that of all the places Joe could have told me to go to, this place reminds me so much of home."

"I'd like to hear about your home," Sarah queried, as she sat down beside him. "What was it like there, your family, surroundings?"

"Right now it seems so far away," pondered Tim. "I left after a rather rough fight with my sister. The way things are, I'm not likely to be heading back any time soon. Besides, you're here now, dressed to kill, as it were," he commented, softly caressing her cheek. "What's say we give our mutual friends a proper farewell. Okay?"

It wasn't lost on Sarah that Tim hadn't fully answered her question. From what everyone had to say, Tim was an extremely private person. But seeing him in such a vulnerable state, she was willing to allow a temporary reprieve. For now, that is.

"Do you have any idea which ship you'll be assigned to?

"From what I've been told," muttered Sarah, darkly, "the admiralty has this 'great' recruiting scheme they want to do. And my family, the whole family mind you, is the focus of this public relations stunt to put a friendly face on the military."

"Friendly? I can appreciate the harassment Tigh is going through keeping the civilian media types in line. I have problems just keeping my Air Wing trained and operational without that sort of interference. Just the same though, gathering all the Adamas in one hull ought to cause Colonel Tigh to lose what few hairs he has left. I figured he'd had enough trouble on his hands with Starbuck alone."

Sarah's frown slowly melted into the impish grin that Tim found so endearing.

"Hmm… A bald Colonel Tigh. Now there is something I'd like to see…"

Tim and Sarah continued to enjoy time together over the following two weeks, enjoying the various sites and activities that Delphi had to offer. The level of comfort the two of them felt for one another only grew with time, drawing them closer and closer. By the end of the second week, it was clear to any observer that the relationship had grown far past that of a simple friendship.

Tim and Sarah were sharing a comfortable couch, watching the setting sun from Tim's hotel room. Sarah's head was resting on his shoulder. Tim's arm was firmly, almost possessively, around her. Both their leaves were to end in the next couple of days and the two of them wanted to enjoy this time to the fullest.

"We should get married," Sarah announced suddenly.

Tim paused for a moment before turning his gaze. Sarah's eyes were staring determinedly back at him.

"I'm not saying no," he slowly began, "but I think this could be a bad idea. Several reasons come to mind starting with Starbuck, Apollo, Zak, not to mention your father. Do you have any idea how they are going to react to this?"

Sarah shifted, settling herself in Tim's lap with her arms around his neck.

"Oh yes, I've been wondering. But at the same time this war has killed millions, with millions more to go before it ends. I don't want to spend my life knowing I had the man I loved but in the end let him go. I look into your eyes and I see mystery, pain. I want to spend the rest of my life finding out why!"

"We've only been together, on and off, for the past few months," responded Tim. "What makes you think that this is the right thing to do?"

"Simply because it feels so right, Tim." Sarah closing her eyes, rested her forehead on his. I know you're not big on religion. I don't think I've ever seen you go to Temple for that matter, but it's like they brought us together for some reason. If nothing else, I just don't want to let you go."

Holding her head gently in his hands, Tim looked deeply into her eyes.

"You do realize this is going to cause a whole host of problems," Tim sighed. "Knowing my luck, your father is going to come after me with a blunt rusty bayonet. I just hope he gives me a bit of a head start."

Mentally Simpson was in awe of how far things had gone. 'First Sean and Jennifer, and now I'm going native. I am not looking forward to the debrief General O'Neill is going to give me when I report in. Hell, how are Sarah and the others going to react when First Contact is initiated, and the truth finally comes out.'

"We're living in a time of War," continued Sarah. Leaning forward, she gently kissed his forehead. We could die tomorrow. So live for the moment. Come with me to the Temple of Aphrodite and let's get married."

"Carpé diem," murmured Tim, in a moment of déjà vu.

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just a little something I heard somewhere. It's supposed to translate to 'Seize the day,'" commented Tim. "Okay then. Let's do it. But what are we going to do about your dad and the others?"

Sarah simply shrugged her shoulders.

"I really don't know. I figured I could hold off telling my dad until the Pegasus left, but after that is anyone's guess."

"Why do I get the feeling that this was going to happen whether or not I agreed to it?" Tim mused.

"That's because I marked you as mine from the moment we first met," she chuckled.

*Battlestar Pegasus*

'Thank God for the reprieve,' Simpson thought to himself.

He had not looked forward to the personal, albeit friendly, grilling from the Admiral when he returned to the Pegasus. Thankfully that wasn't the case as Cain still had another week of leave. Major Simpson took advantage of the down time to catch up with his paperwork. Locking the hatch, he dove into the work of sorting out the squadron assignments and training schedules.

As far as he knew, no one even had the inkling of his recent marriage. The only ones who could possibly find out were Cain and Belzen. She would be on leave for another week. Belzen would be a problem only if it posed a real threat to the safety of the ship. Tim hoped that with any luck at all the whole issue would just slip under the DRADIS. He should have realized that with Murphy on his side, the only luck he would have would be bad.

With assignment sheets plastered all over the walls, Tim was deep in thought when the hatch handle gently rattled. The following firm knock on the hatch door broke his concentration.

Disgruntled at the intrusion, the Major tossed his stylus on the table and shoved his chair back against the wall. Stalking to the hatch door, he unlocked it and quickly swung it open. Any maledictions he had intended for the offending crewman quickly caught in his throat as he came face to face with a bemused Admiral Cain.

"This is very unlike you, Major, keeping your door locked. Trying to get your paperwork completed before the next deployment?"

Simpson quietly strode back to his seat, paperwork in hand.

"Sorry about the door, Admiral," Simpson commented, shuffling some papers on his desk, "but I think I've finally been able to pin down the squadron assignments to both my and the pilot's satisfaction."

The lack of any ready response unnerved the Major. Slowly raising his head, he noticed a knowing look on her face.

"So," Cain casually commented, "Anything special while you were on leave?"

"Not that I was aware of," Simpson warily countered. "The Temple of Aphrodite had some sort of festival on the go, but nothing worth mentioning. Why do you ask?"

"It's funny you should mention Aphrodite," drawled the Admiral. "I noticed your personnel file had been updated recently."

'Oh crap!,' he thought to himself. 'She knows!'

The Admiral watched with growing concern as the blood seemed to just pour from the Major's face. Fear took a momentary foothold as Simpson mentally scrambled to figure a way out of this considerable pitfall.

"Hey, hey! Not to worry," the admiral rushed to assure him. "It's not like I'm about to toss you into THAT lion's den. Not yet at least," she finished with a grin.

With color slowly returning to his face, Simpson gave the Admiral a guarded look.

"Look, Simpson," she began. "I know how much you guard your personal life. But something special like this is something that should be shared amongst friends, even if your new bride just happens to be Adamas youngest!"

Simpson opened his mouth to speak, but Cain held up her hand to stop him.

"I know they've announced that the WHOLE Adama family is gathering together on the Galactica. Some gods-awful PR excuse for recruiting if you ask me. But the mission the Pegasus is about to depart on requires you to stay here with your head screwed on right. Do you think you can handle that, Major?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" Tim replied, confidently. "I know it's something I'll have to deal with, but handling anyone named Adama, right now, would not be beneficial to my continued good health. I'd probably do better dealing with the Cylons."

"Well then, you're getting your wish. Our next assignment is a search and destroy mission. There's a jump capable Cylon space station out there and we need to get rid of it. One major problem is the six basestars it has as protection detail, not to mention what else it might have as back up. Battle group 55 spotted it in sector 12 last month, but it jumped out before anything could be done to it.

"Okay then, Admiral. Let's go hunt ourselves a station!"

*Battlestar Galactica*

*Caprican Defense Line*

To say Colonel Saul Tigh was in a bad mood, was like saying a nuke was just a big firecracker.

In his opinion, civilians were the plague of the universe; Media civilians, doubly so.

The media crew filming the recruiting segment, were everywhere, sticking their noses and cameras into everything. While nothing ever seemed outside their purview, they never seemed to push past a certain point. Tigh grudgingly, in an unspoken agreement, accepted this apparent truce.

It was during one of the formal photo sessions that things finally came to a head.

The Adama family had been gathered in the main conference room for various photos and video clips when the lead reporter began asking some strangely pointed questions.

"Admiral Adama. Do you have all of your family here?," queried D'Anna Biers.

Sarah began to pale.

With a puzzled look on his face, the Admiral paused to scan and confirm all members were indeed present. When he replied, it was in a tone that left no doubt he was telling the truth.

"With the exception of my wife, who is presently on Caprica, yes all of my family is here. Why do you ask?"

D'Anna turned to Captain Adama with a sly look on her face.

"So. I gather you haven't told them the happy news, Captain Simpson?"

The silence was deafening as the whole Adama clan slowly turned to look at Sarah.

Starbuck was the first to break the silence.

"What?! You married Kage? When the FRAK did you manage to pull that off?!"

The Admiral took a long, pensive pause to look carefully at his daughter before he spoke. "Sarah," he rumbled, "what have you done?"

She knew that tone very well, having earned her father's disapproval on a number of previous occasions.

Staring Biers in the eye, Captain Simpson posed the obvious question. "So," she began, "how did you find out?"

Taking up the challenge, Biers stared right back.

"I make it a point of knowing the people I'm dealing with. A contact of mine in Fleet records noticed your file had recent changes and checked up on it. So, why isn't your husband here by your side?"

"For your information, he is presently deployed elsewhere. His presence and skills were required somewhere else rather than posing pretty for your cameras."

Before the seething, D'Anna Biers could get a word in edgewise, Sarah continued. "And before you rush off in a huff to complain to Admirals Corman and Nagala, remember this. This is the family you negotiated for in the first place. You asked for us, and you got us. Deal with it!"

Later, it was a very different meeting as the Adama family and close friends gathered in the Admiral's ready room. Leading the rest, Sarah almost instinctively found and seated herself in the only straight back chair facing her father's desk. The rest flowed in finding seats for themselves around the perimeter of the room, each keeping a careful eye on Sarah as if she had more surprises to spring on them.

"I've sat there often enough. Feels weird not to be there this time."

With an incredulous look on his face, Tigh quietly muttered, "Only you, Starbuck. Only you!"

Admiral William Adama blatantly ignored the background chatter. The once little girl, now grown woman, no longer attempted to study the imaginary dirt that covered her clothes. Now with her head erect, she stared as if challenging to make her change her mind.

"You know," he began in his soft, gravelly voice, "your mother wanted you to have a huge wedding with maids and ushers, flowers, the whole nine yards. And instead, off you go, running off to…, where was it?"

"The Temple of Aphrodite," offered Sarah.

"Aphrodite?! Gods! Your mother is going to have a fit! The Eros special, no doubt! NO! No! I don't need to know!," moaned the Admiral.

"It wasn't like that at all, Dad!," retorted Sarah. "I looked for and found him during my last two week leave. We spent the time taking in the sights and sounds of Delphi. I mean, it was amazing. Almost like I was seeing it again for the first time! In the end, it was all me. I forced the issue on Tim. If nothing else, Tim was a true gentleman, trying to get me to see and make sure I knew what I was doing. It only made me want him more and more."

"So, where is this 'True Gentleman' of yours? Afraid to face the music?"

If his orders were correct, he and the Pegasus should have left a couple of hours ago. He's it's CAG. Besides, to hear him say it, he'd rather take on a Cylon battle group with a spoon rather than have to face all of you. Sir."

Starbuck slapped a hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle a sudden bark of laughter.

With a sheepish grin on his face, Colonel Tigh could only shake his head. "If he's Cain's CAG, then there isn't a hope in Hades that anyone will ever get near him. If anything, she can be a hard taskmaster, but she is very protective of her crew."

Apollo still felt a little put out. "How could you have done it without us there as witnesses?"

"Because, I didn't want a huge affair with all the hoopla. In the end, I got what I desired most, a man who loved me for me.

That seemed to say it all. Before anyone else could continue to rant, Zak spoke his piece.

"Let's just drop it, folks. What's done is done. I doubt there is anything we can really do to him without having issues of insubordination. The only ones here that out rank him are Dad and Unc…, sorry," he quickly amended, "Colonel Tigh."

"Well, Sarah," began the elder Adama. "It's going to be up to you to break the news to your mother. God's help Major Simpson when he gets back. I only cringe at what she will have in mind."

"I know," Sarah responded contritely.

"How long did you think you could have kept this hidden from us," grilled the Admiral. "All it would have taken was a quick check of your records to see the change."

"Obviously not long," countered Sarah. "Tim just need time to work out how he was going to approach any of you. I know he's an extremely private person, but deep inside he is committed to those he calls his friends and family. I know he will never do me wrong."

Admiral Adama took some time to mull this over in his mind before handing down his decision.

"As it is, the Pegasus is on a search and destroy mission, looking for a jump capable Cylon Station. How long this will take is anyone's guess. But when he returns, none of you are to give him any troubles about this surprise. He is now family. Do I make myself clear?"

Author's note: Carpé Diem – Latin – Seize the day.


	5. Eleven Days

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate in anyway shape or form the lucky people of MGM do. I also do not own Battlestar Galactica the people of NBC own it. I am only writing the story for fun and nothing else.

 ***SG 13 The Cylon War***

 ***Chapter 5***

 ***Eleven Days***

One simply could not believe the turn of events. With everything going for them in the beginning, the Cylons found the tides of war turning against them. What began as simple losses of some ships and raiders quickly blossomed into strategic losses of locations and materials. And the losses were accelerating faster than they could be regained or replaced. By all accounts, what should have been a stumbling multitude was in reality a howling mob out for Cylon blood. It took a quiet Eight to point out that the Colonials of today were united, focused; even more now with the destruction of their Capital.

On the Pegasus Major Simpson was wrangling with the tactics and strategy, it would take to bring down the elusive Cylon Station. Too many times they had gotten close, only to see it slip away. The only results being a 'bloody nose' they received from the collection of basestars guarding its retreat. There had to be a way of defeating it. Tim was sure of it!

Taking a pause to resort his thoughts, Simpson looked at the shambles of paperwork that littered his desk. Amidst the rubble stood two pictures, two reasons why he was here and why he was doing this. The first was of SG-13 only days after their arrival in the Colonies, full of promise and potential. The second was an even happier picture of Tim and Sarah posing out in front of the Temple of Aphrodite like any other newlyweds would.

He understood that messages from home would be scarce this far out on the edge. But once he returned to the inner systems, he expected his inbox to be overflowing with love, concern, and maybe (okay, definitely) the occasional note of bodily dismemberment from irate in-laws.

Planning this assault was placing more than the normal amount of stress on him. Both Belzen and Cain had spent inordinate amounts of time on prior strategies only to have them fail. But knowing how well Simpson had worked out reasonable tactics to keep his pilots alive, and his unorthodox methods used in subduing Starbuck at the Crashdown, Admiral Cain felt that the next attempt should be placed squarely on his shoulders.

"So. No pressure then, right?," quipped Simpson.

The wide-eyed look of the rest of the bridge crew, along with the amused groan from Colonel Belzen, gave everyone the impression of a potential failure of gigantic proportions. After all, if he couldn't take the situation seriously, no one expected him to plan anything seriously.

So it came with a small bit of surprise when Major Simpson entered the War Room in his on-duty uniform rather than his flight suit. He acknowledged the two officers standing at the other end of the plotting table.

"Admiral Cain. Colonel Belzen."

"So, Major Simpson," intoned the Admiral. "Have you come up with something we can use to destroy this station?"

Taking a step back and out of the spotlight, Colonel Belzen ensured that all attention would remain on the Admiral. He wanted to take this opportunity to study the Major. From all reports, the Major was one to think outside the box, coming up with plans that by all sane reasoning should not work. But they did.

"From recent reports, the station has jumped into a small star system in sector 22." Laying out a system map on the plotting table, he continued. "This system is notable for two things: a gas giant with an asteroid belt on an inner orbit. If the Cylons keep to standard tactics, the mystery station will place itself on the inner edge of the asteroid belt for about the next 'day'. The placement is intended to confuse standard DRADIS returns."

"Alright so far," noted the Admiral, "How does that help us?"

"We know that the gas giant is slightly forward orbit-wise to the station's present location. I propose we insert a squadron of stealth stars, loaded with anti-shipping missiles, behind the gas giant. This should mask the energy signature of the jump. From there they would carefully approach and then knock out the station's FTL drive. Once that is complete, one stealth star would jump back to inform the rest of the fleet. The fleet would then jump in and finish it off."

"To keep the advantage, I would suggest that we use at least 8 Battlestars to deal with the supporting basestars, leaving the Pegasus and her battle group to deal with the mystery station."

As the Admiral listened to the presentation, she would occasionally glance over to Belzen as if to ask his opinion. Belzen could only shrug his shoulders and offer a grudging nod.

"It seems to be a well thought out plan, Major," remarked Cain. "but why the need for so much stealth?"

"The answer to that is two-fold, Ma'am," replied Simpson. "The first reason is to be able to get in quickly to disable the station's drive without scaring them off. The second reason is to give us accurate coordinates to jump into. Prior attempts had us blunder into the system randomly. By the time we finally acquired the target and were ready to fire, it would leave us with only the basestars to deal with. This way we will know where the station will be, ready for the killing. Command wanted it done, and this is the best I can come up with to get the job done."

By now, Belzen was nodding with considerably more enthusiasm. What he had originally assumed to be marginal was now something most commanders would give their eyeteeth for.

"A very worthy plan," he commented the Major. "Keep this up and you could soon be looking at your own command."

"Thanks, but no thanks, Colonel," responded Simpson. "I'm content with being a humble Viper jock."

"Viper jock or not, Major," commented Admiral Cain, "with talent like this, there may come a time when you may not get a say in the matter. If I were you, I'd start getting ready for just such a possibility!"

Knowing how much political clout Carolanne Adama could yield, Cain could only shudder about what lengths Adama would go for her baby girl.

Misreading the Admiral's thoughtful pause, Major Simpson stumbled over his tongue to get clarification.

"Is everything okay, Ma'am? Do you agree with this plan in principle?"

"Yes I do, Major," she responded. Checking the mission clock on the wall, she continued. "Based on movement patterns, the Cylon station will be at its present position for about half a day more. I want the stealth stars ready to jump in an hour's time with the rest of the fleet ready to jump on a moment's notice. Is that clear?"

"Major, you are in charge of coordinating all air wings. I want all Vipers and Raptors ready for a combat jump as soon as the word is given. Got it?!"

"Yes, Ma'am!" Simpson called out, running out the door to begin preparations.

*Prime Minster Office*

*Brussels, Belgium*

*Earth*

The cold mug of tea at Rose Tyler's right elbow was a silent testament to the amount of reading the new Prime Minister had accomplished. But for all that she had done, it seemed a small dent in the irregular mountain that graced her desktop. And while this mound covered various topics dealing with the new world government, it was just a brief snapshot of all the details involved. The most heartening thing was that although there were issues, they were being dealt with in a calm, thoughtful manner.

In a nutshell, the UEG was finally stabilizing into an adolescence that many had hoped and dreamed about, but few had believed possible.

The day's sunshine had long since settled past the treed horizon bringing with it the cloying shadows of night. Giving up on the latest report as a lost cause, Prime Minister Tyler took a moment to lean back in her chair to stretch out the acquired tension. The slight creak of the door announced the next item in her long day's agenda, but Rose chose to ignore it, enjoying a few extra moments of relaxing bliss.

The quiet clearing of her aide's throat announced the dreaded return of her never-ending obligations.

"Generals Hammond and O'Neil are here to see you, Ma'am."

"Thank you, Nadine," replied Rose. With a quick glance at her desk clock, she continued, "I know we have other things scheduled after this meeting, but after you see the generals in, reschedule the rest for later on. After that, call it a night and head on home. We can pick up where we left off, tomorrow. It's been too long of a day."

"Yes, Ma'am! Thank you, Ma'am!," Nadine squeaked. Turning to the open door, she continued, "The Prime Minister will see you now, Sirs."

"Thank you, Miss," a Texan voice drawled.

"Gentlemen. Please, come in," greeted the Prime Minister. "There is much to cover and not much time to do it in."

"Thank you for seeing us at this time, Madame Prime Minister," offered General Hammond, "and let me congratulate you on winning the recent election. I must admit I was surprised Prime Minister Sun didn't run for another term in office. Not only did he get so much accomplished, he had nothing but the highest respect from his fellow Japanese. They were so proud that he was chosen to lead the inaugural administration of the UEG."

Rose gave him a very knowing smile.

"During our transitional meetings, I had an opportunity to ask him about that. As much as he was proud of what the world as a whole had accomplished, he couldn't see himself staying past the first term. To hear him talk about it, the constant stress he was under trying to keep everything on point, not letting it stray was just incredible. From the short time I've been here, I'm starting to appreciate what he went through."

"We have a bit of an idea, Ma'am," quipped O'Neill. "While running Stargate Command, and saving the world from certain destruction, what," he glanced at Hammond for a moment, "every other month or so, was never without a cost to us. Repeated hair pulling and shipping Tums in by the case lot, became high on the list. Just look at General Hammond, here."

There was a very significant pause as General Hammond slowly turned his head to fix O'Neill with his steely glare! It was a glare that promised all sorts of dire consequences. Catching sight of his superior's extreme disapproval, he was surprised how quickly his shoelaces could become an object of intense study.

"Uhm… Oh…. Yeah… Sorry, Sir."

Prime Minister Tyler's body jiggled from the laughter she successfully kept bottled within. O'Neill's moment of temporary insanity seemed to be what she needed to melt away the day's tension. At the same time, through simple observation, she could see the respectful interaction between a CO and his subordinate. It wasn't so much what O'Neill could get away with as how much Hammond would allow before it got out of control.

"Yes, I do see," commented Rose, grinning. "But on to more serious issues, please. How are things going with the Colonies? I'm asking because somehow word has leaked about the Colonial/Cylon war. There are some who want to help but not sure what we can do. Are there any resources that we can direct that way, any assistance we can offer?"

A significant glance passed between the two men, speaking of many heated discussions they had had on the topic.

"At this point in time, Madame Prime Minister," began General O'Neill, "we are already doing everything that we can. Because we simply don't have the assets to spare, full fleet battles are just not possible. What we are relying on are a series of 'Hit and Run' guerilla strikes on key infrastructure. The last successful one was on a mineral mine that they use as fuel. The resulting explosion, fortunately, damaged a nearby fleet yard. So we ended up with two for the price of one. Beyond that, we are stretched pretty thin."

"What Jack has left out, Ma'am," continued Hammond, "is that we are facing two larger threats ourselves. Over in Pegasus, even with the restocking of Atlantis with drones from the Asurian homeworld, we're just able to keep the Wraith at bay. Back here in the Milky Way, we have another threat of invasion looming from a group calling themselves the Ori. So, for the time being, the Colonials are on their own."

"But it's not as grim as you might think, Ma'am," piped up O'Neill. "With the destruction of the mine and shipyards I mentioned earlier, the Colonials actually have the advantage at this point in time."

"Do you concur with this assessment, General Hammond?," questioned PM Tyler.

"Yes I do, Ma'am," replied Hammond. "We need every ship we have to deal with the threats we have right now."

"So, our problem is that we don't have enough X-303s and 304s out there?"

"Just 304s, Ma'am," Hammond corrected her. "While the X-303 'Prometheus' was just a prototype, it is also the quickest ship that we could put together to maintain security in the system. It was comprised of a number of innovations and reverse engineered components we had been working on at the time. When we took her into battle against Anubis, she showed us what she was capable of, and reluctantly what she wasn't. Since then we've been slowly replacing her with her sister ship, the X-304 'Daedalus' class cruiser."

"And the crews?"

"In a word, green as grass, Ma'am," remarked Hammond. "I'll admit that they have the enthusiasm, but to send one or two of them against the Cylons right now….," Hammond just shook his head.

"And the new X-305 Carrier and the X-306 Heavy Cruiser classes. Where are they at this point?"

"Parts of them are still on the drawing board," O'Neill informed her. "It'll be a couple of months before the first of them are completed for shakedown tours. Carter, excuse me, GENERAL Carter and her team are making headway and creating miracles daily, but she is still going to need time. She is still comparing her work with the scans the Asgard provided us. The designs are a definite departure from what we would normally create, let alone any other race we've come across so far.

Tyler grimaced at the news.

"Not what I wanted to hear, but it can't be helped. Because of the news leak, the UEG Senate is starting to talk about advancing First Contact. That means they want to initiate it even sooner. The biggest problem I see right now is that we no longer have an advanced team on the ground to help smooth the way."

As far as we know, there should still be a part of the team still alive in the Colonies," commented General Hammond. "While it is true that Captains Wirges and Simmons have died, the status of Captain Harris and Colonel Simpson is still unknown. Wirges and Simmons were both in Caprica City when it was bombed. Harris was to meet up with Simpson on Picon before continuing to Caprica. It is assumed that the communications device was in Caprica at the time of the bombing simply because there have been no reports filed since."

"What are the chances that Harris and Simpson survived and are still in the Colonies?," wondered PM Tyler.

"There is an excellent chance that Harris is okay," pondered Hammond. "As for Simpson, it's anyone's guess. After the bombing of their capital, we've noticed a decided increase in Military operations. It's much like the Earth's howling for Goa'uld blood after the notorious 'Rain of Death'. Very united and very determined. It's going to sound like a bad joke, but Simpson's survival at this point would depend on how good of a friend 'Murphy' is to him."

"Oh God," muttered Rose, her chair creaking as she leaned back. "Do we have any idea the potential fallout if either of the two are discovered before First Contact?"

"We really don't know," admitted O'Neill. "From what our team had been able to research, Earth was a lost colony myth to most of them; a colony that supposedly split off from the rest when they evacuated the original world of Kobol. We are as mythical to them as Big Foot or Atlantis is to us."

O'Neill paused for a moment.

"Okay," he muttered. "Atlantis. Bad example. Just the same, based on their 'Sacred Scrolls', if they were to encounter us they might try to bring us 'back into the fold' as it were. We could be perceived as the prodigal child that needs to be re-educated. And if somehow it were to get out that Kobol might really be a colony of Earth, it would be received very poorly."

"And with the remaining members of the team," mused the PM, "What are the chances that they could 'go native'? Is there any chance that they might give up on returning and try to live out their lives in the colonies or would they want to be recovered?"

"I don't think so," responded General O'Neill. "I met with the team while I was making my decision of who to send. The group I chose gave me the same 'feel' I had when I had been with SG-1. They were close-knit, supportive of one another, and loyal to a fault. If it were to be confirmed that there was no way back, they would melt into the population and simply live out their lives. I do not see them ever betraying us, not intentionally at least."

"The original reason for inserting the team was to get a 'feel' for the people, and understand the best way of making peaceful contact," commented General Hammond. "Once the team's original objectives had been met, the previous Prime Minister and his Secretary of Defense (SecDef) thought it best to keep them there a little while longer, as First Contact seemed so close."

"And then the Cylons decided to appear," nudged Rose.

"Yes, and No," responded O'Neill. "The original orders told them blatantly to avoid military contact at any cost. We wanted to learn about the people, not spy. During a 'Team Building' night together, they chose to taste the 'atmosphere' of a local pub. Due to unforeseen circumstances, totally beyond their control, they were quite literally 'thrown' at that self-same military. Since then, Simpson is working his way up the ladder of command, reluctantly accepting promotions as they are thrust upon him."

"It makes me wonder," O'Neill mused, "if something, or someone, is manipulating events from the shadows, more than what we or the Asgard could even begin to comprehend."

"Is there any way of getting more help in or to recover any possible survivors?," queried the Prime Minister.

"We just don't have the ships or technology available to duplicate what the Asgard did in the first place," said General O'Neill. "Any ship we send would be detected shortly after entering Colonial space and would theoretically be shot down by either side. And, before you start asking, I did check with Thor. The Asgard are up to their little gray butts dealing with the Replicators. Don't look for help from them anytime soon."

"It just gets better and better," muttered Rose. "Which leaves me with one last piece of business." Pausing for a moment, Rose raised her head to look General Hammond square in the eye. "General Hammond, I am asking you to be the new SecDef for the UEG. Do you accept?"

Hammond recoiled sharply out of shock.

"Me?! Why me, Ma'am? There must be others out there who have better qualifications than me?"

"Truthfully," the Prime Minister quietly responded, "there are a number of reasons. You already have a strong, respectful rapport with most of the Military services around the world. You came with a glowing unimpeachable reference from the former US President Henry Hayes. And just now, I know how you obtain and keep the respect of your subordinates; by simple presence rather than by harsh words." There was a brief pause before she continued. "Besides, if you turn it down, I'll have to use Jack. And we all know how that will work out."

"Hey!," sputtered an indignant O'Neill, "I resemble that remark!"

As the laughter (and some grumbling) subsided, Hammond responded.

"Would this mean I would have to retire from active service?"

"Yes. Immediately. Tomorrow, General O'Neill would be sworn into your previous position after, "she paused, "he completed the paperwork naming his successor."

With a knowing grin, General George Hammond (ret.) stood to reply officially, "Madame Prime Minister, I accept your appointment. My only hope is that I can live up to your high expectations."

*Colonial Fleet*

*Staging Area*

*Cylon Space*

Waiting was a pain.

'No,' Tim corrected himself, 'waiting and not knowing sucked the biggest.'

The stealth stars had been launched and had jumped into the target system just over an hour and a half ago. According to Simpson's projections, they wouldn't encounter the mystery station for another 30 minutes. After that, it would be up to the fates to decide if his plan would fly or fail.

All ships were prepped and ready in anticipation of a successful incursion. Major Simpson had worked out the final tactics, making sure that all squadrons throughout the fleet knew their part in it. Missile tubes were loaded with Vipers and Raptors armed and ready for rapid deployment when the ships jumped in.

And now, all they could do was wait.

Simpson sat in his Viper checking and re-checking his pre-flight list, tweaking his equipment; anything to keep the pre-combat jitters at bay. It wasn't as if he was going into battle for the first time, but this was the first major engagement based on his strategies and tactics. He had always been taught two truths in war: people will always die, and no plan ever survives contact with the enemy. He could only hope that the results would be worth the cost.

'I wonder how Hammond or O'Neill put up with this,' he thought to himself. 'I wouldn't be surprised that their ulcers didn't develop ulcers. I wouldn't be able to handle this. God, give me a weapon, a tool, something other than this waiting around.'

'Yes, that would be easier wouldn't it,' intoned a quiet voice in the back of his mind. 'But all positions and ranks, like jobs, come with their own unique costs. For the basic soldier, it do or die. It's the officer in charge that determines how to make that sacrifice valuable or simply in vain.'

'But I'm not that type of person,' Tim argued back. 'I'm a man of action, of doing, of risking my life to get things done. I can't handle just standing around!'

'Maybe, but then again, maybe not,' his conscience responded. 'Both Hammond and O'Neill started just like you. But when the time came they accepted the role of leadership. Not because they wanted it, but because someone had to do it and they were the best people for the job regardless of the personal cost.'

A quiet rap on the canopy broke his internal musings. Turning to the sound, Tim noticed the concerned face of the Deck Chief.

"Everything okay, Major?"

"Yeah, Chief. Just a case of the pre-flight jitters. I'm just working things out you know."

"Oh! That's all!," the Chief replied, a great grin of relief spreading across his face. "Don't sweat it, Major! The birds are all fueled, loaded and ready to go. The way you've got this figured out, those Cylons are going to get a pasting they won't soon forget it. We all know it!"

The tannoy overhead broke into the din of pre-combat preparations.

"Action Stations. Action Stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship. The Stealth Star has returned and landed. Ready all ships and missiles for Combat Jump. The Jump clock is set to ten minutes and counting."

"Okay, Major. That's my cue. Good luck out there and Happy Hunting!"

Jumping down from the Viper, the Deck Chief quickly hauled the boarding ladder from it's side. Simpson gave the Chief an energetic thumbs up as the canopy closed, locking him into the cockpit. As the platform, his fighter rested on descended, an overhead hatch closed with an air-tight thud. On the Major's right, the Launch Control Officer watched as the catapult shuttle moved into position latching onto the front strut of the Viper's landing gear. A quick look at the indicators showed everything in the green and ready to go. With a quick thumbs up from the Officer, Tim knew he was ready to go. Out of simple habit, Simpson returned the gesture with a quick salute of his own before resting his arms on either side of the canopy frame.

"This can't be happening," One cried out in shock, "It simply can't!

"It frakking well is," retorted a Three, "so you might as well dig your head out of your backside and find something useful to do!"

With shaky hands, One joined into the DataStream. It was soon clear to everyone that his hands weren't the only things shaking. The confidence One usually exuded was rocked by fear. Fear that, for all his planning, the Colonials might actually destroy the Cylon's precious Hub. Without it, all Cylons would no longer be able to resurrect, and eventually have to face the Final Death.

A cry went out over the internal Cylon network quickly informing everyone of the imminent threat. As the cold shiver of their own mortality loomed, they stumbled over each other scrambling to send aid, any aid. The Hub had to be protected at all cost.

The initial intrusion of the Stealth Star Squadron had originally considered an annoyance. All previous attempts had failed miserably, allowing the Cylons to develop a false sense of security. One had thought that it would be dealt with quickly and had gone on to leisurely prep the Hub for an early jump out. That annoyance turned to shock when the Stealth Stars successfully focused their attack on the Hub's FTL drive, knocking it out. The shock quickly turned to fear when the Colonial task force did a precision jump in to execute a coordinated attack.

Even before the last exotic particle of Jump Space had begun to dissipate, the deck crews were busy getting their 'birds into the air'. Launching, pushing, even kicking (some even claimed), they had the Vipers and Raptors out in record time.

The mystery station, as some would later say, had the look of an elaborate Temple floating in space. Delicate spires mixed with glittering colored windows adorned the spaceborne piece of art. If it hadn't been a target of great importance, most agreed that it would have been a fitting Temple to Zeus or even Hera.

As the Pegasus and her escorts closed in on the station, a group of 8 battlestars broke off to intercept the six defending Basestars. The opening exchange was nigh unbelievable with missiles and KEW rounds blanketing the space between the ships. It was as if the Cylons were pouring everything they had to stop the invading Colonials.

While flying any small craft under wartime conditions was extremely hazardous, the amount of firepower being thrown around made this situation as borderline insanity.

This was turning into the ugliest furball Simpson had ever witnessed. It was strangely similar to the encounter over Caprica, only far more intense. Rather than keeping to one task, the Cylons began changing actions depending on the situation. One moment they could be pouring murderous fire on attacking Raptors and the next throwing themselves in front of an incoming missile, all in the name of defending one station.

Even with the Cylon's frantic defense tactics, the station began to show the incredible amount of damage it had absorbed. Onboard lights began flickering randomly over the entire structure as its internal power began fluctuating. Sensor readings on the Pegasus showed that it wouldn't take much more before the power core itself was compromised causing it to self-destruct. Believing that victory was in sight, the Colonials began to give it everything they had.

It was then that the Cylons pitched their curve ball.

"Admiral!," called out a bridge officer. "I'm getting a massive energy spike forming 'above' the engagement area. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear we were about to get company, but something far bigger than anything I've ever seen!"

"Keep your eyes on it," Cain replied. "When something shows up, I want to be the first to know about it. Fleet Gunnery Crews, give it everything you've got. We're about to have company!"

With the flicker of FTL drive energy, ten Basestars and the biggest ship anyone had ever seen joined the battle. The first Alpha strike of the newcomers reduced seven Battlestars to radioactive scrap, shredding any Viper or Raptor unlucky to be nearby. It was clear that the Cylons wanted to end this swiftly and decisively. But the effort was too late to save the Hub.

Before One's horrified gaze, the Hub began swelling like a rotten fruit too long in the sun. It continued expanding until it ultimately burst, sending arms and hull fragments spinning out into the void. For all intents and purposes, Resurrection was now over. The Cylons were now just as mortal as the humans they were striving to annihilate. This realization threw their forces into temporary disarray.

Taking advantage of a momentary pause in the battle, Admiral Cain leaped into action bellowing orders.

"All Vipers, all Raptors, this is the Admiral," she began. "Everyone is to return to the barn. I want combat landings on any ships that can take you! We need to get out of here ASAP. So move it, people, before we lose any more of you! All Battlestars are to spool up their Jump drives to jump out as soon as their birds are back in the barn. Don't wait around!"

One's shock had chilled him to the bone as he watched the individual fragments spin off into the darkness. He was at a loss to think of what was to become of him, of all of them. No Hub meant no resurrection, a definite final death. His confusion led to frustration. The frustration of having his 'immortality' ripped away from him. In the end, he could only see red; the blood of the hated humans, paying for what should have been his/theirs. The rightful rule of Cylons over this section of space.

In his moment of frustration, of anger, of absolute outrage, he was barely able to form the words, "Kill them. Kill them all! Shoot everything you see! Just wipe out the frakking' B..bb..bb…"

One's emotions affected the entire collective. A moment later is was as if Hades himself had opened up and vomited fire and brimstone upon the offending Colonial fleet. The first to explode were a pair of older Battlestars that were heavily damaged from the earlier slugfest with the defending Basestars, the fragmented debris kicking up a 'dust' cloud of nearby space. Even though the Colonials fought back, it was nothing in comparison to the withering fire that rained down upon them.

Pilots were responding to the recall, scrambled for the comparative safety of any Battlestar that would take them; some landing successfully while others were cut down before they could arrive. As another Battlestar exploded, Cain winced at the loss. They were being slaughtered out here, but she knew she needed to give her pilots the chance to survive.

As the last of the planes were approaching the flight pod, the entire Battlestar suddenly twisted to the left. Crew members not at a post or hanging on somewhere suddenly found themselves careening around the CIC as if they were part of some giant pinball game.

"REPORT!," bellowed Cain. "What in Hade's putrid underworld just happened?!"

"Unknown at this time, Admiral," came the quick response from Belzen. "All I do know is that the Port Flight Pod is showing a rash of trouble lights; everything from fire, explosive decompression, to outright structural damage!"

"Damn it to Hades! Are our birds onboard?"

"The last one just landed in the Starboard Pod now."

"Then jump, Gods Damn it. Jump NOW!"

*Colonial Fleet*

*Rally Point Alpha – recovery staging area*

*Three Hours later*

When the Pegasus arrived, Cain swore they had mis-jumped and landed in a wrecking yard. All ships present were showing extensive damage of one kind or another. The Pegasus herself had the husk of a Port Flight pod where a large piece of debris had struck her. Had it been just a few more degrees off course, the Pegasus herself would have been part of the debris cloud back there.

Admiral Cain took a long weary look at the butcher's bill. This battle had cost them dearly. Of the original fleet, only six Battlestars made it back to the Staging area. The rest had been lost to the biggest frakking ship that Cain had ever seen. It was a miracle that she'd been able to jump out with what she had.

And 'miracle' continued to be the word of the day.

Of the six surviving ships, one would never jump again. With the internal damage it received, it was a miracle that it didn't shred itself to pieces during that last jump. All they could use it for was a booby trap for any Cylons that were able to trail them. Reluctantly Cain gave the order to abandon the ship, taking any and all supplies the crew could carry with them. The remaining ammo and fuel would make for a spectacular explosion, hopefully, take a couple of Basestars with it if they were lucky.

A tired knock on the hatch broke into her brooding of gloom and doom.

"Sorry to intrude, Admiral," Major Simpson muttered, "but here is the list of Air Wing losses that you had requested."

A close look at her CAG showed a man who was haunted by his choices and decisions. Quickly rising, the admiral walked to a nearby cabinet where she filled two glasses from her personal stash of Ambrosia. One was thrust into Simpson's hands.

"It wasn't your fault, Major. Your plans and strategy is what got the job done where all the previous attempts had failed. No one could have anticipated the Cylons bringing in that Behemoth!"

"Ah, yes," muttered Simpson. "Murphy strikes again."

"Merr Fee?," puzzled Cain.

"Oh, just an imaginary daemon I created," explained the Major, with a start. "Back home we ran into so many unexplained problems, that we started blaming it on this daemon. His basic rule was 'If something could go wrong, it would.' It just reminded us to try to prepare for any possible issues that could crop up."

"Well, Merr Fee aside," the admiral offered, "the plan you came up with was worthy of any officer out of the War College." Raising her glass, she offered a toast," To our lost comrades. May the Gods carry them to Elysium."

The glasses had barely touched their lips when the tannoy rang out in alarm.

"Action Stations! Action Stations! All crews to their stations. Inbound Basestars. Action Stations!"

Setting his glass on the Admiral's desk, Major Simpson bolted from the office to make his way to the flight deck.

Racing to the CIC, everyone could hear the Admiral bellow, "Status!"

"We've got ten Basestars inbound, Admiral, "reported Belzen.

"And the status of the Euripides? How much longer will it take to complete the off-loading?"

"Longer than what we've got."

"Alright then, tell them to set the timers for 30 minutes and then haul their butts out of there. We'll wait as long as we can, but if they're not here in time, sorry."

"Understood."

They were defensive. That was the only way Simpson could describe it. Ten fresh Basestars against 5 roughed up Battlestars was not a fair fight, but you had to take what the universe gave you. Right? Raptors and shuttles streamed from the failing Euripides like rats from a sinking ship, dodging weapons fire as they made their way to any ship that would have them.

The Vipers were hard pressed to mount any effective defense. Between incoming missile and Raider assaults, it was all they could do to keep from dying. The Admiral's sudden recall was a welcome respite from what was a turkey shoot for the Cylons.

But the respite was not to last.

33 minutes after completing the jump the call for action stations had the pilots back in the saddle and out the tubes defending the remaining ships. Somehow the Cylons had located and jumped in to continue the beating. Time was needed to program the destination and to spool up the drives. It was up to the Vipers to get them the needed time.

It was after the third jump that Major Simpson was convinced that the Cylons were somehow tracking them. He raised that concern during an update call with the CIC.

"I really hope your wrong, Major," commented Cain, "but just the same I'm having Navigation calculate a series of jump coordinates that can be quickly entered in to speed up the process."

And on the cycle went. The crew started counting the jumps, then the hours, and finally the days.

Finally, on day Five, Simpson advised the Admiral that he was having to put most, if not all, of the Air Wing on "Stim"'s. "The way things are going," he explained, "I'm going to end up losing more people to a bunch of frakking' mistakes than I will to the enemy."

"I know," replied Cain. "I'm already catching all types of Hades from the CMO for allowing the bridge crew to start using them. I'm Okaying this in principle, but see if you can hold off to the last minute, and then only as sparingly as possible. I don't want any of my people overdosing on the stuff if I can help it."

At the pilot's briefing, Simpson passed on the Admiral's recommendations and concerns. "From here on out," he began, "I want you to do close inspections of your birds before and after every sortie. Combat launches and landings will be the standard until we make it home. The punishment our birds will be taking will need to be constantly monitored and dealt with immediately, later will be too late. I know you guys are tired, but I don't want to see you go because of a stupid mistake. Watch out for yourselves, for each other, and we will make it home!"

By the end of the tenth-day things were pretty desperate. A good number of the crew had simply passed out from exhaustion; at their posts on the ship, or in their cockpits readying for launch. It didn't help that they had lost two more of their ships to fatigue, damage, you name it. Morale was low. Many were simply so tired that they were beginning to wish that the end would come.

At the end of one particular jump, Major Simpson had been called to report to the CIC. When he arrived, he found Major Shaw clutching the plotting table just so that she could remain upright. Off in one corner, he noticed Belzen and Cain curled up in blissful sleep.

"Tim," slurred Shaw. "You need to take command!"

Dumfounded, Simpson noticed she was clearly on her last legs. Her face was drawn and pinched from fatigue while her eyes were kept open only through Herculean effort.

"Isn't there someone else," whined Simpson wearily, "someone with more seniority?"

"No. Not anyone I can trust. Please, Tim, please take command?"

Taking a deep breath, Major Simpson paused for a thoughtful moment before releasing it in a long controlled sigh. Looking her straight in the eye, he replied, "Alright Shaw, alright." After another pause, he continued, "Major Shaw, you are relieved."

"Oh, thank the Gods," was all she said. As her hands finally lost grip on the plotting table, Major Shaw began a slow slide down, making a crumpled mound on the floor.

After ensuring Shaw's inert form was in a safe spot in the CIC, Simpson brought his second in command up to speed.

"Priest, old buddy, you're gonna have to ride herd on our boys down there. Whether I wanted it or not, command has been dropped into my lap. Gods help us all!"

"No problems, boss," came the reply. "Anything I should be aware of?"

"Nothing more than keep an eye on our people, okay? Make sure they don't overdo the stims down there, and I'll see what I can do to help get us out of this mess. Copy?"

"I copy that 'Actual,'" smirked Priest. "Now I know we'll get out of this okay. Talk to you later, Kage."

The next day was pure Hades for Simpson. Not only was he trying to keep awake but also trying to keep his ship and crew intact and back home. Off to the side he had one of the bridge, officers try to analyze the point when the Cylons jumped in for the attack. This included timing, locations, firing sequence, anything that might give the Pegasus the advantage. Finally out of the chaos came a slim image of the Cylons own predictability.

With this information in hand, the Major began hammering out the means to finally get the frakking Cylons off their backs. Between the moments of organized insanity that led up to each jump, Simpson tweaked and finessed all of the details. It was as he worked out the last of the details that he realized he had company. Looking over his shoulder, he acknowledged the tossle haired admiral as she was rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Glad to see you up and about, Admiral."

"You too, Major. How long have you been here? And where the Hades is Shaw?"

Tossing a thumb over his shoulder at the slumbering Shaw, he replied, "I've been here for about a day now, ever since Shaw collapsed from exhaustion. I don't know the last thing you remember, but the Pegasus is now the last ship 'standing.'"

"And," Cain commented, nodding at the plotting table, "you haven't been standing idly by watching things happen?"

"No, Admiral. And if what we've been able to work out is correct, I think this next jump will see us safely home. Over the past dozen jumps, the Cylons have become more and more predictable as to where they jump in. If we were to bombard the area moments before their arrival, it should confuse their DRADIS and possibly inflict enough damage for us to get away cleanly."

"And if not…"

"We will have opened ourselves up to a plastering. I won't lie. This is an all or nothing play at this point."

The Admiral took a deep breath while pinching the bridge of her nose in thought. It took only a moment for a response, but it was as decisive as ever.

"Alright. Let's do this! I want all weapons loaded, armed and ready to fire on my command. Navigation, have the coordinates to the Scorpian Ship Yards in the Jump computer yesterday. This is a 'do or die' play people, so keep with the plan and we will get home. Hop to it!"

Noticing Simpson on his way out the hatch, she called out, "Where are you going, Major?"

"To the flight deck with my men, where I need to be!"


	6. Aftermath

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate in anyway shape or form the lucky people of MGM do. I also do not own Battlestar Galactica the people of NBC own it. I am only writing the story for fun and nothing else.

 **SG 13 The Cylon War**

 **Chapter 06**

 **Aftermath**

*Battlestar Galactica*

*Caprica Defense Line *

Walking through the halls of the old Battlestar Admiral William Adama considered the current situation. While not being blamed for the surprise attack on Caprica city a few months back, his failure to keep the city from being nuked had left the whole of the Colonies in shock. Never before had they been hit so close to home. Now more than ever he felt it was his important duty to head up the defense line for Caprica. It was a sudden call to action stations that turned Adama back to the CIC.

Colonel Tigh stared at the DRADIS in disbelief. Seeing Admiral Adama walk into the CIC, he quickly pulled himself together to deliver his report.

"The Battlestar Pegasus has just jumped into the no-jump zone. The only reason she was not immediately fired upon is that her auto distress beacon was wailing away from the moment she appeared. I had Starbuck take a quick pass to look at the ship, and she reports that it's in pretty bad shape. Whatever fight she was in, the Pegasus took a heavy beating."

Before anything else could be said, Starbuck's voice came crackling over the CIC speakers. "Galactica, Starbuck"

Toggling the transmit button, Adama responded, "Starbuck, Galactica Actual. What do you have to report?"

"Galactica, The Pegasus is a mess. Main power was up for a couple of moments after they jumped in, but right now it is completely down. No running lights, no engines, nothing. The port flight pod is basically a burned out hulk. I'm surprised it was able to get this far in the shape that it's in. Wait one. I'm seeing Vipers from the starboard flight pod."

"Pegasus Vipers, this is Lt. Kara Thrace. You are in the no-jump zone at the Caprica Defense Line. Do you understand?"

"Starbuck, this is Kage. I am declaring an emergency for the Pegasus. We have been in a running gun battle with a Cylon fleet for the last eleven days. We had intended to jump to the Scorpion Ship yards, but mis-jumped here instead."

Listening to the talk between Starbuck and Kage the Admiral Adama decided to step in. "Kage, This Galactica Actual. Would you please repeat that last message, Major?"

His eyes were burning from the fatigue, Tim slowly responded, "Galactica, we've been in a running battle for the last eleven days. We would jump, and about 33 minutes later the Cylons would show up. I think I've made more Combat launches and landings in the last eleven days then I have in the entire war."

Before Admiral Adama could ask anything else another voice broke in over the wireless. "Galactica, this is Pegasus Actual. Assuming my CAG has not already mentioned it, we are requesting an immediate emergency assist. Kage, since I know you are listening, I want you to land on the Galactica and hand deliver the copy of the data we have to Galactica Actual. Immediately after that, you are to hit the rack to get some rest. You got that?"

Rolling his eyes inside his viper at the last order, Tim responded. "Understood, Actual. Okay people, form up on me and let's go. There are racks on the Galactica with your names on them."

Turning his Viper towards the Galactica's the landing bays, he keyed his wireless. "Galactica, this is Kage requesting priority landing clearance for 3 for the port landing bay."

"Kage, Galactica LSO. You are clear for pads 1, 2, and 3 for a hands-on approach. The Checker is green. Call the ball Major Simpson, and welcome aboard the Galactica, sir."

Calling the ball, Simpson made his approach, landing a little harder than usual. In a moment of clarity, he realized that combat landings were not necessary right now as they had made it back home. As the lift lowered him down to the service bays, Tim wondered how banged up his little fighter had become.

Chief Tyrol was waiting on the deck for the Vipers from the Pegasus to make their appearance. Word had not yet spread as to why Major Simpson was onboard, only that the Chief was to check and repair the Major's Viper once it was secure. Tyrol eyes widen in surprise as the Viper came into sight.

"Oh, sweet Artemis! Cally! Get me several more Techs, right now! We've got three hurting Vipers that are going to need a lot of work."

After a wide-eyed moment of disbelief, Cally took off down the flight deck, throwing a "Right away, Chief" over her shoulder as she went.

Watching from the overhead gallery, it seemed, to Admiral Adama, that everyone who could be here was here. The only exception was Starbuck, who was currently flying the CAP. Seeing the condition of Major Simpsons Viper had left him a little surprised. Still, if they were in a battle for eleven long days, as Kage claimed, then …

All eyes followed the tired little fighter as it was moved to the repair bay. That it was still able to fly was a miracle in itself. The visible damage and carbon scoring were a testament to the extensive battles it had bravely fought and survived. And now, like its pilot, it seemed to be looking for a chance to rest and recover.

Captain Lee Adama quietly watched from his spot on the flight deck. Thinking back over his experiences, he thought he had seen what damage a viper could suffer. But whatever hell Major Simpson and been through had made the other vipers look like showroom models.

Still, as he watched the deck area, he noticed his sister's eyes show great relief seeing that her husband had returned safe and sound. Zak, on the other hand, watched Tim with concern. And it wasn't until he saw the Major disembark from his fighter that he could see why.

As Tim slowly eased himself down the boarding ladder, he was met by Sarah's grateful look of relief. The two of them quietly, and very firmly, drew each other into a close hug, totally oblivious to family, crew mates, and the film crew watching them. After the briefest pause, Tim pulled his head back to place a gentle kiss on Sarah's forehead. It was then she noticed the haunted, walking dead image that Tim had about himself; the gaunt, drawn face, the very dark smudged eyes that confirmed he had not slept for an extended period of time.

Sarah broke the silence first. "Gods, it's good to have you back home!"

"It's good to BE back home. I missed you so much." Tim paused for a moment, "Can I safely assume they know about us?"

"Yeah. Thanks to a very nosy reporter, the news broke shortly after you left with the Pegasus. Dad and my brothers weren't overly pleased about it, but Mom was the worst. Be prepared for a big to do when she gets the chance."

Breaking away from his wife, Tim wearily approached Admiral Adama and offered a rather sketchy salute.

"Major Simpson reporting as ordered, Admiral."

Admiral Adama carefully watched as Major Simpson saluted. Returning the salute, Adama replied, "Follow me so we can debrief you in the wardroom. After that, someone is going to drag you off to a rack to get some well-deserved sleep."

Noticing the crowd that surrounded them, the admiral reminded them that this was still a confidential military matter. Anything that they would need to know would be communicated through the usual channels. The leader of the film crew tried to argue that they were there documenting the happy homecoming, but the Admirals stern look quashed any opposition.

As Major Simpson walked into the Galactica's Wardroom, he pulled a disk out of his flight suit and handed it to the admiral. Taking a breath, he garnered his remaining energy to give his report.

"We had completed the mission and gathered at the staging area to jump home with the Intel when all Hades broke loose. Before we could spool up the drives to make a jump, a massive Cylon ship of some new unknown type jumped in and began laying waste to the battle group. It carried far more guns and missile launchers than any previous basestars. By the time we were able to jump out, only 6 of the original 15 battlestars had survived; a couple only by miraculous intervention. I don't even want to talk about the support ships."

Adama paled at that information. The rest of the room had looks of shock on their face the Cylons had taken down one of the most powerful task force in the fleet.

Remembering the disk in his hand, he says, "Sarah, take Tim to one of the guest quarters and make sure he in bed in the next twenty minutes. The rest of you, I want this information copied into the system to be analyzed, scrutinized, and sifted through. Reports are to be ready for sending to Admiral Corman and Nagala within the next the hour. And someone gets the Pegasus towed into dry dock so she can have her repairs started, ASAP!"

*Galactica Guest Quarters*

Sarah quietly watched her husband take off his flight gear and head into the small shower. She wrinkled her nose as she picked up the flight suit. 'Gods it stank,' she thought to herself as she hung it over the back of the nearest chair. But remembering that Tim quite literally lived in that suit for the past eleven days, it really didn't seem so bad. Still, with the rest of his gear back on the Pegasus, Sara realized she was going to have to scrounge up a shipboard uniform and all of the extra's for Tim to wear.

Sarah grew concerned as time seemed to drag on. Knowing how Tim preferred short showers, she nimbly stepped over the discarded undergarments and made her way into the shower. Taking a quick peek in, she noticed how he had leaned himself against the wall under the spray. His eyes were closed, as soft snore echoed in the stall, and his right hand clenched around the shower head. Sarah gave him a gentle nudge.

"Hey sleepy, you're snoring again. Don't cha think you'd like the bed better?"

"Sorry, Hon," Tim replied sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes. "Just a couple more minutes? Please just … a … couple more…," his words fading off.

Sarah knew that he'd soon collapse if something weren't done. Quickly shutting off the water, she draped the nearest towel over Tim's shoulders trying to dry off as much water off his now shivering body. At a shuffle-stumble pace, Sarah led Tim to the bed, where he promptly collapsed, half on and half off, sleeping the sleep of the dead. With a little effort, she succeeded in moving him into a much more comfortable position, a blanket securely wrapped around his body.

With a gentle caress and a loving kiss on the forehead, Sarah made her way to the door. Pausing for a moment, she looked back at his sleeping form, trying to imagine what it must have been like. Constantly running and fighting with no chance to rest except for cat naps snatched now and then. Shaking her head in amazement, she turned out the light and wished him sweet dreams before closing the door behind her.

Reaching her father's quarters, Sarah had noticed that most of the family had arrived before her. To her surprise even Doctor Cottle was present, sitting in the far corner intently studying his notes. She made a beeline to the elder physician.

"Do you know if he's going to be okay? What kind of side effects can we expect? How long do you expect him to sleep?"

Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Cottle quickly replied, "Easy now! Easy! One question at a time, PLEASE!"

Taking a long puff from his cigarette, the doctor studied the glowing ember for a while before answering the anxious woman before him.

"As far as I can tell, he should be just fine. According to the lab results, I'm pleased to say that what stims the Major was using were done very sparingly. Just the same, with the amount of time he has stayed awake, he's going to be dead to the world for at least one day, maybe two. It all depends on what his body is going to need to recover. After that, I strongly recommend time off to decompress; a week, maybe more.

The Admiral nodded in agreement. "That seems to be the consensus of Medical HQ. All survivors were to be informed, unless they're already getting rack time, are on a one week leave as of immediately."

Zak, the family Raptor pilot, was the first to ponder the consequences. "A week's leave? Does anyone know how Admiral Cain is going to take that? If she's anything like the rumors say, she'll be climbing the walls within the first 24 hours!"

Admiral Adama chuckled out loud, "Normally I'd agree with you, Zak. But if she and her crew are anywhere near as tired as our dear Major over there, Cain will have made sure to tuck everyone in and found a place for herself to crash out."

There was a quiet moment shared by all before a somber Starbuck added her own piece.

"I thought I'd seen banged up birds before, but those Vipers were coming in off the Pegasus just took that to a WHOLE new level." Kara simply shook her head, her eyes wide in amazement.

"When I came in from my patrol, I couldn't help but hear the Chief cursing up a blue streak. He was muttering something about shoddy/non-existent maintenance, and about pilots who couldn't take better care of their 'toys'! Please remind me never to get on his bad side, okay?"

The Admiral quietly agreed. "The Chief can get rather ornery about his workload, especially about some pilots who seem to go out of their way to prang their birds. But deep down inside, I know he's a bit of a soft touch for those who do try to make an effort."

Scratching his head with a free hand, Tim slowly made his way back from the depths of slumber. Rubbing the itchy sleep from his eyes revealed a guest quarters bathed in a reddish murk, a digital clock being the only source of illumination. The momentary confusion of where and when was quickly replaced as an annoying twinge reminded him why he had woken up.

With pressing personal business been dealt with, Tim turned on the small desk lamp to get a better idea where he was. To the right of the rumpled unmade bed sat a straight-backed chair, a fresh shipboard uniform neatly arranged over it. Gone was the 'ripe' flight suit he had last worn, no doubt condemned to the fusion drive for a thorough and complete cleaning. He couldn't see Sarah doing anything less. Once he had quickly dressed and made himself presentable, Simpson cautiously made his way into the outside corridor. Checking with passing crew members to confirm the Admiral was in his quarters, Simpson confidently navigated his way to report properly in.

A light tapping intruded on Admiral Adama's quiet contemplation of the daily reports. Seeing the Major at the hatch, Adama waived him in and motioned that the door was to be closed.

"And don't even think about saluting, Tim," growled the elder Adama. "Officially you and the others have been on a week-long stand down; something about going above and beyond the call of duty, or some such thing. So relax, or do I need to bring Sarah in to help you 'son'?"

Tim quickly raised his hands in surrender, "Okay. Okay. You win." Unbuttoning his jacket, Simpson eased himself into an offered seat opposite the Admiral. "So. How long was I out? Did I miss anything while I was in the land of Nod?"

"You've been out for damn near two days now," replied Adama, "and things have been unusually quiet. I don't know what you people did, but everyone is grateful for the reprieve. While there had been rumors of slow downs here and there, what ever you did seemed to stop them in their tracks."

Adama rose from his chair and stepped over to a cabinet resting on the back wall of his quarters. Pulling out two glasses and a dusty looking bottle, he placed the glasses on his desk and poured two equal measures. "From what I can tell, you've had a rough couple of days. I think you have definitely earned that."

"Thank you, sir," replied Tim. Taking a sip from his glass, he groaned in appreciation. "This stuff is good, but I think the whole Task Force is deserving of a bottle or two. Each. This truly was a group effort lasting eleven brutal days. It's not something I would want to repeat any time soon."

"I can appreciate that, Tim," responded William, "And for the record, because you are now family, call me Bill or 'Husker." And don't think for a minute," he continued with a grin, "that I'm not going to use my intimidation speech on you. There would be unholy Hades I'd have to pay to my wife if she ever found out that I'd failed to read you the riot act in one form or another. I'm happy my daughter has finally found someone, but not happy that you felt you had to do so behind everyone's back."

"Great," muttered Tim. "Why does facing the Cylon fleet in an escape pod suddenly sound a whole lot healthier …"

"So. 'Husker, huh? How did that call sign come about?"

"Well, it dates back to when I was first assigned to the Galactica. I was full of spit and vinegar back then, itching to jump into a Viper and make a name for myself. Instead, the Commander assigned me to a Raptor to cool down. The co-pilot I was to fly with had just lost his pilot, which put him into a foul mood. Somehow he mistook me as a naïve farm boy from Caprica and declared that the prior pilot was worth ten Huskers like me. After our first mission, I took the call sign 'Husker' to honor the friendship that developed."

"Nice, Unusual, meaningful, and personal. I like that," mused Tim.

"Unusual," rumbled Bill, "but so is Kage. It's not a name I've ever heard used anywhere in the Colonies."

"I don't think it is a name per se," replied Tim. "More like the sound that came from my victims. You see, I had this unnerving habit during training to pop in and out like a ghost. Once, I scared the Hades out of one person so badly that that was the only sound they could make while pulling themselves together. My friends cleaned it up to Kage, and it has stuck ever since."

Sarah Adama-Simpson was finally at peace with herself, much to the relief of those around her. The weeks that Tim was gone on assignment, not knowing if he lived or died, put a strain on her that she would never have believed. But, at the same time, seeing Tim crawling out of that poor battered Viper…., the words were not there to describe the relief she felt.

For the past two days, it was a happy task for Sarah to look in on her husband. With the occasional drink, or visit to the head, Tim had slept solidly 'round the clock. And, if truth be told, it was these regular look-ins that eased the stress from her day. Why, just the other day…

Bump!

"Sarah? Oh great! I just finished bumping into Apollo. Now you? What would it take to just walk this ship without once running into an Adama?"

"Oh, crap! Sorry Starbuck," grinned Sarah. "My mind was elsewhere for a moment. But just the same, I know what you mean. It's a toss up whether Tigh or the CAG would be happier getting rid of most of us. Give me a moment, okay? I need to look in on Tim."

Quietly cracking the hatch on the guest quarters, Sarah peeked in; only to be rewarded with an empty room and an unmade bed. A quick search revealed nothing but a wet towel draped over the shower head and a bare chair that once held a spare uniform. Of the missing Major, there was no sign.

Concern flickered across the Captain's face.

"Where the Hades is he," she wondered aloud. "That fool needs his rest!"

"Hey!" remarked Kara. "He's a big boy. He can look after himself."

"Yeah. But after 11 days on his feet, and Gods knows how many stims he's taken, he should know to get his rest!" retorted Sarah.

'Oh, Kage,' thought Starbuck, with a grin, 'you're in for it now!'

Calls to the Pilot's ready rooms came up empty, as did the Launch Bay, Maintenance, CIC, and the Med Deck. No one, not even the few passers-by that Sarah had accosted, had seen the Major, let alone knew where he had gone. By now Sarah was livid, pissed, and at the same time just a little bit scared.

"Come on, Starbuck. I need to see my Dad. Maybe he knows where that idiot has gotten to or at least help me knock some sense into him!"

Simpson and Adama were in the midst of swapping some very interesting war stories when they were interrupted by a solid, insistent pounding on the hatch door. After a quick glance at the door, Simpson cast a puzzled look at the Admiral.

"Were you expecting anyone, Husker? If so, I can clear out if you want."

"Not that I'm aware of," replied an equally puzzled Adama. As the pounding continued unabated, he continued," Did you by chance forget to let Sarah know where you were going to be?"

"Oh, Crap!"

"Oh Crap is right," grinned Husker, "I think that might be for you."

Before Tim could even move, the hatch burst open.

"Admiral, I AM sorry for disturbing you right now, but have you…"

"Uhm, hi dear," Tim offered meekly from his chair.

"Don't you 'Hi Dear' me, you idiot! What in Hades are you doing out of bed? You know you need your rest! And here I was worried sick, not knowing where you had gotten to…"

"You do know that I'd have to get out of bed sooner or later? Besides, I feel fine!"

"In your case, DEAR, it should have been later. MUCH later!," Sarah replied, glaring daggers at him.

"Uhm, Admiral. Request permission for a transfer to the front? All of a sudden I'm getting the feeling that I'd have better odds surviving there."

Bill Adama just grinned at the scene unfolding before him. On one hand, he was quite impressed with how Sarah was trying her best to keep her special man healthy and whole. But at the same time, he was getting to see a rare moment of vulnerability in her. For most people, Sarah had a reputation of keeping her cool in times of great pressure. Tim, however, was not most people.

"I'm sorry, Kage," replied the elder Adama, "but your request is denied. Apparently, you have an appointment for a high level debrief at Picon Fleet HQ before there is any chance at re-assignment."

"Aww? Come on!" whined Simpson. "Not even a special consideration for a dead man walking here? Knowing my luck, I won't be around to make it to the debrief, not with the looks she's giving me."

"Okay, funny boy," growled Sarah, "Just for that you can come with me, right now. We're going to pay Dr. Cottle a special visit."

"Sarah," pleaded Tim, his face slightly paling, "You did just hear me say that I'm fine, right?"

"I heard you. Now you hear me! I want to make sure you're fine. That's up to the good Doctor. You can come willingly, or do I have to get my brothers to help me?"

"Hey! Hey! No fair ganging up on the wounded guy!"

Looking over, he noticed that the Admiral and Starbuck were looking on sharing the same ear to ear grin.

"Something funny you two?" he growled.

"You'd have to be in my shoes to understand, son," replied Bill. "You'd better get going before she makes good on her threat."

Simpson walked out of the Sick Bay a couple of hours later, muttering something about doctors and their evil love for sharp pointy things. Sarah was walking along side, bemused at his creative banter.

"You know," growled Tim, "you could have just accepted what I said at face value? It would have been a whole less painful for me, in the end."

"I know," admitted Sarah, "but I needed to be sure. I've never known anyone who willingly pushed to keep themselves awake as long as you did. I was just worried about the possible side effects or possible complications afterward."

"Weeellll….., thanks for caring so much. I don't know what I'd do without you. And speaking about 'what to do,' it feels weird having all this spare time suddenly on my hands. Usually, by now, on the Pegasus, I'd be up to my neck sorting out pilot rotations and checking out Viper availability."

Tim stopped all of a sudden, looking at Sarah.

"Wait a minute. Shouldn't you be on a duty shift?"

"I had just finished my shift when I came to see you. And before you ask, I had been re-assigned to light duty to keep an eye on you. No one wanted you left alone when you woke up, and I was supposed to keep something like this from happening in the first place. Besides, a lot of us were beginning to worry, what with you sleeping as long as you did."

"I'm sorry," Tim began, "to have made you worry in the first place. Please, the next time, just believe me when I say I'm fine?"

"You are just too stubborn for your own good," she complained, snuggling into his warm embrace. "But I hope you're ready to face the cameras. The film crew has been chomping at the bit to get glamour shots of the newest addition to the family."

Looking at the ceiling, Tim muttered, "Gods, give me strength. Hey! Wait a minute! Could I use this as an opportunity to practice my evasion survival skills?"

*Galactica*

*Port Flight Bay*

*Five Days later*

Tim watched pensively as the Raptor was prepped for launch. Unless he was familiar with the officers involved, Simpson always felt nervous about high level debriefs. Depending on how the information was received, some would automatically assume something could have been done to improve the situation.

"The time has come to talk of many things…," muttered Tim.

"What was that?" Sarah knew that her husband had a pension for spouting off strange comments at various times. Much of the time it could be attributed to stress and nervous ramblings, but there were times when she could almost see 'something' amongst the madness. One day, when this was all over, they were going to have to sit down and talk this out.

"Nothing, nothing. Just the nervous ramblings of an agitated mind, dear," quipped Tim. "You know going in front of the Admiralty is not high on my 'todo' list, right?"

With the rest of the family looking on, Sarah took a moment to 'straighten' his sash, medals, insignia, anything she 'felt' needed her touch.

"I just wish you'd tell me what happened on that mission," she sighed, "The rumors around here are flying fast and furious. Something about some sort of Cylon super ship that hammered the task force flat."

"Sorry, Hon, but you know that's 'classified,'" Tim smirked. That same smirk slowly faded as he continued, "and you don't have the clearance. Besides, one of us having nightmares over it is still one too many."

Realizing it was time for the Major to depart, Admiral Adama interrupted their quiet moment.

"It was a pleasure having you on the Galactica, Major. You take care of yourself and remember to come back some time soon."

"Yeah," joked Starbuck, looking over at Apollo, "and maybe you can take over as CAG. I'm thinking we could do with some fresh blood around here."

"And have to put up with Hot Shots like you? Not a chance! Sorry, Apollo, but she's still your problem pilot. Fly carefully, okay?"

"And you too. Just don't keep my sister waiting too long, okay?"

"You…," was all Sarah could get out before punching Apollo's shoulder.

Amidst the laughter, Simpson offered a final wave before boarding the Raptor.

Parking his behind in the 'Jump' seat, Major Simpson buckled himself in securely. Feeling the jerk of motion he glanced out the front canopy, confirming the craft was being moved to one of the access elevators. With a familiar litany of clicks and beeps, the pilot ran through his check list, powering the craft up for the journey planetside. It was then that Tim recognized who his pilot was.

"Zak? What in Hades are you doing here? Did you end up drawing the short stick, or is it just some unusual punishment?"

"Nope," replied Zak. "Believe it or not, I actually volunteered. I just wanted to make sure you made it down safely. We can't have my sister become a widow because some hack-handed amateur blundered the job. Right, Kage?"

"Thanks. I really do appreciate it."

The trip down was rather uneventful. The outside darkness slowly began lightening, shifting through the various hues of blue. The ever present silence of space was replaced first by a gentle whispering before moving on to the whistling of various tones as more and more atmosphere began flowing over the blocky craft's form. Peering out the hatches only port hole, Simpson could just see where the air heated the leading edge of the Raptor's 'wing,' allowing gossamer tendrils of superheated plasma to trail behind.

With expert ease Zak piloted the Raptor down, neatly landing the craft in the assigned location. Surrounded by the pings and creaks of heated metal, he carefully finished the Shut down procedures, allowing the craft to cool before opening the hatch.

"Gods only knows what they're going to want to hear, but you take it easy, okay Zak?"

"You bet, Tim. Come back soon, for Sarah's sake."

Major Simpson made his way out and off of the craft, careful not to test the still hot edges. A vehicle sat nearby, idling. The driver stood beside it, waiting almost expectantly.

"Are they afraid I might not show, Captain?"

"I wouldn't know, Sir. They just wanted to make sure that all parties were present at the appointed time."

"Alright, then," Tim gestured with his hands. "Lead on."

The trip to the HQ was functional, quick and quiet. Although the driver glanced back at the Major on numerous occasions, the small talk was short and restricted; almost to the point of non-existence. The arrival at Picon HQ was just as austere. The officer who met him at the door kept any communications to a minimum. Finally, after traveling the maze of corridors for what seem close to an hour, Simpson was ushered into a small waiting room. The room was essentially bare, save for the mounted motivational posters and the straight back chairs that lined the walls. A second door could be seen centered on the opposite wall.

"Major! Good to see you up and around."

"Admiral. Colonel. Major," Simpson responded, saluting each in turn. "I'm glad to see someone who's willing to say something more than 'Yes, sir,' 'No, sir.' Any idea why the sudden loss of communications skills?"

"It's that monster ship we encountered," replied Shaw. "The moment that hit the high command, they put a clamp on that tighter than I had ever seen before."

"Then why in Hades didn't someone tell me?" complained Simpson.

"I think it had to do with you sleeping as long as you did. You were so out of it, I heard, that they figured a bomb going off wouldn't have disturbed you, so they left it until you woke up. By then paperwork was lost or misplaced, and everyone else had moved on."

"Well, I do appreciate the rack time I finally got," responded Simpson. "It was a blessing. I hope everyone made the best of their downtime?"

"It was good to be home spending time some time with my wife," piped up Belzen. "My two little girls were over the moon to see me and actually get to spend time with me. The only thing that spoiled it all was that damned medical exam. Being poked and prodded with more instruments than I would like to imagine. And don't get me started on those needles!"

"I agree with you there, Sir," moaned Major Shaw. "Where on my body does it say 'Human Pin Cushion'? I swear that there were bets going that they could beat the record for sticking every possible location on the human body."

Admiral Cain smiled, adding, "I think we can all agree that most doctors are just plain evil when it comes to their love of sharp needles and ice cold instruments. I'm still shivering from that last visit."

The light moment came to an end when the group heard the door in the opposite wall open. The face of another non-descript Captain appeared to motion them through.

"Ladies. Gentlemen. Would you please follow me."

From the beginning, the debrief was proving to be very different. Usually, the interviewing panel would be made up of at least 5 to 7 officers and civilians from various parts of the service and technical support community. The normal task would be to dissect the events to see what could be changed to improve the situation in the future. In this case, the board was composed of simply three individuals: Admirals Corman and Nagala, and Richard Adar, the Colonial President.

Leading the others into the room, Cain smartly marched in, halted in front of one chair, and saluted the reviewing panel.

"At ease Admiral, Colonel, Majors," offered the president. The measures we've taken do make it look as if you are on trial. Nothing could be further from the truth. The fact of the matter is that after you had finished dealing with the mystery station, the entire Cylon offensive seemed to lose much of its drive."

"So why the silent treatment?" questioned Cain.

"The heightened security measures were to keep the intel on this "monster" ship under wraps until we could work out how to deal with it. I'm assured by these two gentlemen that this information will eventually be passed down the chain of command as the need would arise."

"And, if you don't mind, Mr. President," interrupted Admiral Nagala, "could we please proceed with the debrief? I can see that these people don't want to relive it more than they have to."

"Of course. Of course. Let's begin."

The debrief/interview covered from the moment the Task Force left on the assignment to the point that the Pegasus' battle worn hulk re-appeared in Caprican space. Although led by the two Admirals, the President was as equally active in the questioning, bringing up valid and insightful comments as time moved on. The session was long, being interrupted at times for refreshments or for the officers to compose themselves after revisiting very emotional points.

"Okay. I have just one last question before we move on to our findings," announced Admiral Corman.

"Major Simpson. Where exactly did you find your inspiration for the tactics you used to take down the mystery station?"

"My tactics, Sir?" replied a startled Simpson. "Uhm, nowhere special, sir. After reviewing what we had tried and failed with, I was reminded how Tauron Tundra Wolves would use a pack tactic to take down a Polar Ursine. Add a couple of details and there it was. Simple, easy, and effective."

"Hmm…," responded a bemused Corman. "Very interesting. Thank you, Major."

"As this is not a trial, the findings we have are more an observation than a judgment. As you are now aware, the after effects of your mission has given us another pause with which to regroup and rebuild. The unforeseen drawing out of this 'Monster' Ship gives us a more complete picture of our enemy's assets, and at the same time allows us to plan for more potential encounters with it."

"This information was not without cost. After Action reports, gun cameras and data recording systems all confirm that every action was taken to minimize the loss of life, wherever possible. The fact you made it back alive is nothing short of a miracle."

"Your subsequent suffering at the hands of the military doctors was not without reason. No study had ever been successfully taken on the effects of sleep deprivation to the extent that you and your crew have gone through, Admiral. And as you might have assumed you were 'Human Pin Cushions,'" the admiral emphasized with air quotes, "the medical community as a whole was chomping at the bit to get as many samples as they could before you had completely recovered from your ordeal."

"It didn't make it any easier to handle, though," muttered Shaw.

"And with that out of the way," commented Adar, "I would now like to announce some re-assignments."

The quartet of officers looked on warily.

"If you haven't already heard, the Pegasus as she is, is being scrapped."

"What?! Scrapped? How could you!"

"We've had the Corp of Engineers do a thorough inspection from stem to stern, and it is their opinion that rebuilding or refurbishing is totally out of the question. It was a miracle that she was able to complete that last jump without falling to pieces. Yes, some things can be salvaged, but I'm sorry, the lady is gone. That being said, Admiral Cain, you are to report to the Scorpion Ship Yards to oversee the completion of the first of a new class of Battlestar."

Cain looked at Corman with a puzzled expression.

"The Pegasus class. You are to take command of the lead ship of that class when it is completed in four months time. Your XO and crew will be assigned at that time."

"Thank you, Sir!," beamed a very pleased Cain.

"Colonel Belzen."

"Sir?"

"You are hereby promoted to the rank of Commander, and are to report to the same Scorpion Ship yards to take command of your ship, the "Spirit of Delphi." This promotion is in response to both the reviews submitted by Admiral Cain and your performance in your most recent engagement with the Cylons. The Delphi won't be launched for another two weeks, giving you and your new XO plenty of time to become acquainted with her."

"MY new XO, sir?," queried an awed Belzen.

"New, as in the newly minted Colonel Shaw."

To say Shaw was stunned would be an understatement. Her only response was to sit in her chair, with her mouth opening and closing, but not making a sound.

"I'll take your response as one of great gratitude, Colonel," chuckled Admiral Nagala.

"Major Simpson"

'Oh Crap,' Tim thought to himself.

"You have become something of a problem for us."

'Here it comes.'

"And we need to do something about it."

Tim clinched his eyes shut waiting for the boom to fall.

"Your days as a simple Viper Jock are now at an end. You are to report to Commander Jack Nash of the Battlestar Valkyrie. There you are to take on the privileges and responsibilities as HIS new XO, Colonel Simpson."

Simpson's head snapped up to look Admiral Nagala square in the eye.

"That as many of your pilots survived is a testament to what you've accomplished as a CAG. Now we need that skill and ability used on a slightly grander scale if we're to have any chance of winning this war. Do you think you're up to the challenge?"

"I guess so, Sir," replied Simpson, somberly. It's not going to be comfortable, though. I liked it better just being a simple Viper jock."

"I speak from experience," began Admiral Nagala, "when I say that I understand how hard it is to give up the cockpit. But there are many out there that will need your unorthodox thinking if they're going to get home alive from this war. So I ask again. Are you up to the challenge?"

'General O'Neill is going to kill me for this," mused Simpson, to himself. 'We weren't supposed to interact with their society as much as we have. It was supposed to be a simple peek and go. [Sigh] But in the end, he did tell us to "answer the call"...'

"Yes, Admiral Nagala," replied Colonel Simpson, "Yes I am. But if you don't mind, I'd like to offer a small appropriate prayer I've recently heard." Looking up at the ceiling, Simpson muttered aloud," Please Gods, don't let me frak this up!"

"So say we all, Colonel," Adar said with a chuckle. "So say we all!"

"As of now," continued Admiral Nagala, "you are on leave for one more week. At the end of which, you are to report to your new assignments. I should not have to remind you that these proceedings are classified and cannot be spoken of outside this room. Am I clear?"

As the four officers made their way to the exit, Admiral Corman spoke up.

"Admiral Cain. Could we have a moment with you, please?"

Cain looked at the others, motioning that they should go on. When the door was closed, Corman continued.

"Admiral, when Simpson's re-assignment was announced, you seemed a bit concerned. Did you want to elaborate?"

"Yes, sir," Cain replied. "While it is natural that Commander Belzen was to eventually gain his own command, I was concerned who would replace him as my next XO. I was wondering if Simpson could be that new XO, sir. It's partially due to his unusual skills but mostly because of the trust we've built up between us. The Pegasus is going to be a new ship, full of issues. I need an XO I can trust to iron out those issues quickly and efficiently."

Nagala replied with a knowing grin. "We figured you might want to hang on to him. Commander Nash is fully aware that this is a temporary assignment, but I do not envy the struggle you might have taking Simpson back. Nash might not be so willing once he gets an idea the quality of officer he has in his clutches."

*Delphi City*

*Caprica*

"Am I in the right place?" Tim wondered aloud.

Much had changed in Delphi over the past couple of years. With the destruction of Caprica City, much of the Colonial population were finding themselves re-affirming their religious ties and beliefs. Whether the prophecies were true or not, the Oracle of Phoebus Apollo was finding herself in great demand. And with that, the town's population blossomed with the influx of petitioner's, supporting retailers, and the usual collection of hangers-on.

Simpson had parked his vehicle along the curb in one of the more well to do neighborhoods. The buildings surrounding him could best be described as Brownstones, with neat lawns and well-appointed flower boxes. It was an area that most would love to live in, but would never be able to afford.

"Harris, what are you up to?!," he continued to ponder.

Cautiously climbing the stairs, Tim pressed a button to announce his arrival. After a pause, a woman's hesitant voice came back over the speaker.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I was told that a Joe Harris resided here."

"Yes, he does. Is there something I can do for you?"

"If he's home, could you please let him know his old friend Tim is here to see him?"

"Just a moment, please."

That one moment stretched out into 5 minutes. Tim was starting to wonder if he'd been set up as the butt of a practical joke when finally the front door burst open.

"Tim, you old 'ghost,' you," cried Harris, giving Simpson a friendly hug. "It's damned good to see you. Damned good! Come on in. We've got a lot of catching up to do."

"I heartily agree," replied Simpson, eying the accommodations.

The apartment was tastefully decorated with Joe's usual Spartan tastes, but with accents clearly provided by a woman's touch. Instead of the lush arrangements that Tim might have expected, he noticed a variety of artifacts from all over the colonies. Some had cards indicating their importance while others were placed just to give the place a warm lived in feeling. Dr. Jackson would have been proud to call this home.

"Joe, where did you put the spare mugs?"

"Oh yeah, sorry. They're in the cupboard to the right of the window."

As Tim entered the kitchen, he heard a familiar voice muttering about men's inability to put things where they belong.

"Please don't hold it against all of us guys?" Tim commented, grinning at Joe. "Some of us actually do learn eventually. The others…., Good luck, I'm afraid."

"Mmhmm. While most men seem to be a work in progress, Joe here seems to be more work and very little progress. I'm Susan, by the way. Susan Karahalios," she commented with an extended hand.

"Tim Simpson. Pleasure to meet you," he responded, shaking her hand. "If it's not too nosy, how did the two of you meet?"

"It turns out that the both of us worked at the museum," began Harris," She delved into major prophesies and their interpretations, while I muddled about in the artifacts department. One of the artifacts I was working on ended up figuring prominently in one of the prophesies she was researching. We stepped out for coffee one night to compare notes and information, and that night has yet to end."

"It helped that I had to correct him on a number of misconceptions he had about the Gods," added Susan, "otherwise he'd be so far off the mark that things would have never been completed."

Tim's quick glance at Joe was rewarded with a microscopic nod. There were things in the background that were worth delving further into, only now was not the time or place.

"Enough about us. What have you been up to, Tim?"

"I forget now. What was the last time we spoke?"

"The last thing I remember," Harris replied somberly, "was the time you and I spent at the memorial, saying good bye to Sean and Jenn."

"Yeah. I remember. That seems like it was ages ago," Tim said, taking a sip of coffee. "Well, since then, I've gotten married…"

"Married! You? That's incredible. Do I happen to know the unfortunate lady?" quipped Joe, as he received a punch in the shoulder from Susan.

"Actually, you do," grinned Tim. "Do you remember Sarah? The one I met at the Crashdown?"

"What. The proverbial Admiral's Daughter?"

"Wait!" interrupted Susan. "Did you just say the Admiral's Daughter?!"

"Yes," offered a puzzled Tim. "What about her?"

"Only that there was an exposé about the Adama's; something about the daughter getting herself secretly married at the Temple of Aphrodite. Is that the daughter, the two of you, are talking about?"

"I forgot all about the film crew. But to answer your question, yes that is the daughter," muttered Tim.

"Hot Damn! I'm in the presence of a celebrity!" announced Susan. "Do you mind if I tell my family and friends? They'll never believe it."

"Down, woman. Down. He's still just as mundane as the rest of us," Joe reminded her. Turning to Tim, he commented, "So, Tim, anything else you'd like to share with us commoners?"

Tim just glared an evil eye in response.

"All kidding aside, Tim, I'm just glad to see that you're okay. It'll take more that what the Cylons can dish out to deal with the likes of you. Did you have any plans?"

"Not really," admitted Simpson. "I figured as this was your neck of the woods, you might have some suggestions for me."

Tim had had a great week with Joe and Susan. But like all good things, Tim's leave ended all too soon. It had pained him that he wasn't able to share this time with Sarah. Her schedule just simply wouldn't have allowed it. There had been a wailing and gnashing of teeth, but in the end, she had relented. In return, however, he had given her a solemn promised to take her somewhere exceedingly special (and exceedingly expensive, he figured). At times Tim would wonder, in the end, was it worth the hassle? But remembering her beaming smile and the love she gave, the answer was a simple resounding YES!

Being given the choice, Colonel Simpson chose to take an early ride up to his new assignment in a venerable Mk. 1 Raptor. Not for its age, but for the maneuverability. Rather than just jump into the assignment, Simpson wanted to compare what he had only read on paper. Structural points, flight bay arrangements, flak gun placement, you name it. Getting a feel for the real thing would help him to get a real feel for the ship and what it could possibly do, like a walk around he'd normally give his viper before taking off. Old habits were hard to break it seemed.

Finally, to the pilot's eternal relief, the Raptor landed onboard, letting Simpson make his way to the CIC. Passing through the multitude of corridors, he couldn't help but see the similarities between the Valkyrie and the Galactica. Both were older ships but based on a design that could be upgraded or expanded upon with great effectiveness.

Entering the CIC, Simpson located and approached Nash. "Colonel Simpson reporting as ordered, Commander Nash," he offered, saluting.

Nash returned the salute, studying his new XO.

"Welcome aboard the Valkyrie, Mr. Simpson. Did you see any problems during your inspection tour?"

"Nothing at all, sir. It's just a little larger than my Viper. I guess I won't be doing acrobatics any time soon."

"Nice one, Colonel," chuckled Nash. "I've had a chance to read through your file. I have to admit I'm impressed. You've taken part in several battles with an unusual flare for tactics, especially ones that made all the difference when it counted. Once you've had a chance to settle in, I would like to discuss your ideas for this ship."


	7. Look Who Coming to Dinner

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate in anyway shape or form the lucky people of MGM do. I also do not own Battlestar Galactica the people of NBC own it. I am only writing the story for fun and nothing else.

 **SG-13 The Cylon War**

 **Chapter 7**

 **Look who coming to Dinner**

*Battle Star Valkyrie*

*Armistice Line*

*Sector 12*

Battle Group 73 were in the midst of final preparations for the first of many assaults that the Colonials were to make in Cylon space. Now, after all that the Colonies had suffered, the fight was finally being taken to the enemy. This particular fight was to reclaim the world of Djerba, a former resort world that had been taken early in the first Cylon war. And, if the Gods looked favourably on the Colonies, there would be many more added to the list.

The CIC was showing more than its usual brand of controlled chaos today. Colonel Simpson found himself having to pause or sidestep on numerous occasions just to keep from landing on his backside from the flurry of bustling Non-coms. Apologies were offered but usually faded out long before they could be completed.

"Officer of the Day," called out Simpson, as he scanned the maddening crowd.

"Over here, Sir," came a reply from the other side of the room.

"Fleet Status, Captain," Simpson queried as he approached.

"The fleet is as ready as it will ever be, Colonel," responded the Captain. "The only exceptions are a couple of support ships. They're effectively ready to go but claim that they have a couple of details they still have to work out."

"Wonderful," moaned the Colonel. "Don't tell me. They want to do another sacrifice, on top of the multitudes already performed, just to make today's outcome more favorable?"

"Something like that," came the chuckled reply.

"Then you can tell the ship's commander," gruffed Colonel Simpson, "that if he isn't ready by the time Commander Nash gives the word, his ship will be 'sacrificed' as a diversion so the rest of us can get a clear shot at the Cylons. Got it?"

"Copy that, Colonel!," laughed the Captain. "Copy that loud and clear."

"Everything ready to go, Colonel Simpson?"

"Commander!" replied a startled Simpson. "Yes, Sir!"

"But?"

Simpson groaned. "It's the captain of the Ares' Bane, sir. He wants to do one more sacrifice to ensure today's battle. You know I'm not against anyone's practices, but in a battle the less distractions you have the better it goes."

"I know," responded a grinning Nash, "but you have to realize that for some of us, this day has been a long time in coming. We figure its best to get all the help we can get."

"Understood, Commander," came the reply. "I only wish he'd done it earlier."

Reaching up to the overhead rack, Commander Nash pulled down the handset and selecting fleet-wide communications.

"All ships, this is Commander Nash. Set Condition One throughout the fleet. All Raptors to be prepared, all Vipers loaded and in the tubes, ready to launch. Weapons are to be armed with weapons free acknowledged after jump. The clock for FTL Jump is set to 20 minutes. Mark!"

While the intel provided by the scouting Raptors was only two days old, the Admiralty didn't want to take any chances on success. In addition to the five Battle Stars Nash had under his command, an additional two Zeus class Battlestars had been included. It had been assumed that the Commander was going to need all the help he could get. And at the same time, everyone was itching to see what this new class was capable of in battle field conditions.

In an impressive feat of navigation, the entire fleet jumped in-system almost as one. While Vipers and Raptors were literally thrown out of the ships, the CIC crew hurriedly scanned the system to identify targets of opportunity. Onboard weapons were quickly unlocked and turned to take aim on…..

"What in Zeus' name is that?," growled a frustrated Nash. "Did we mis-jump?"

"No, Commander," came the reply. "Sensors and star charts put us exactly where we're supposed to be. The planet Djerba is off the upper starboard beam."

"Then where in Hades did all this debris come from? Do we have ANY Cylon contacts?"

There was a momentary pause before a quiet voice responded. "I think that all the debris is what remains of the Cylon contacts."

"What are you talking about?! I want Vipers and Raptors to initiate an immediate sweep of the system. I damn well don't want to get caught with my pants down."

"Commander Nash? Colonel Simpson?," piped up the Comms Officer, "I'm getting a colonial style buoy signal in the middle of the debris, bearing 325 carom 48. The signal is rather garbled because of the background radiation. I'm doing my best to clear it up."

Colonel Simpson, consulting the DRADIS display, commented, "Have Raptor 909 investigate it. Approach with extreme caution. What ever did this to the Cylons, I really don't want to be next on the menu."

Holding his earphones tight to his head, the Comms officer muttered to himself as he tweaked the controls, trying to clear up how a Colonial message buoy made it this far from the colonies. Suddenly the mutterings stopped as if cut off while his eyes grew larger and larger.

Growing impatient, Nash finally blurted out, "Spit it out, man! What have you been able to get!"

"I don't know what triggered it, but the beacon signal has just been replaced by a recorded message. The language seems to be some sort of derivation of ancient Caprican, but … you … can … just…. " There was a pause as the officer clamped his head set firmly to his head. In a small voice, he continued. "Sirs, you are going to want to hear this for yourselves."

"Fine!," growled the Commander. "Put it on the overheads."

With a click and a sudden crash of static, a voice quickly filled the CIC.

"… it the most. Please remember, you are not alone."

'Strange,' Simpson silently mused, 'I'd swear that sounded like Dr. Jackson.'

There was a pause before the voice began again.

"Attention Colonial Forces."

"What you see before you are the remains of the Cylon Fleet that had been stationed in this system. They and the forces on the planet below have been neutralized. Consider it a 'helping hand' as you prepare for strikes even further into Cylon territory."

'Damn!' Simpson realized internally, 'It really IS Dr. Jackson!'

"We know of your struggles with the Cylons and have been helping you from the beginning of this war. The first time was a strike on a ship yard/fuel refinery three months after the opening attacks. It was successful enough that the Cylons halted their offensive. This gave you the opportunity to recover and take the fight back to them on a levelled playing field."

"We do realize that this war has not been without losses. Days before the opening salvoes fell on your colonies, the Cylons discovered and decimated a human populated world outside of your area of known space. Even though the society was early into its development, they were still destroyed for what they were and what Cylons thought they could become."

"In addition to this, a reconnaissance team of our was in Caprica city when it fell. Their purpose was to simply learn about your people and culture, see how we could approach you in peaceful first contact."

"Our absence during your struggles was not to be an indication that we think so little of you. Why we haven't taken on a more active roll is because we also have threats and obligations of our own. We will continue to help as we can, where we can, and when you need it the most."

"Please remember, you are not alone."

The universe seemed to stop as the entire bridge crew looked at each other in stunned silence. Some mouths opened and closed without a sound being made. The most frustrated were the Viper and Raptor pilots repeatedly asking for instructions but receiving silence in reply.

Colonel Simpson, hiding his own shock, took a moment to appraise the crew's response. Some were 'waking up' and dealing with the piling tasks at hand. Others, not being able to comprehend the curve ball that the universe had thrown them, began to shift into a catatonic state of being.

'Nice play, guys!' mused Simpson, sarcastically. 'This will either hide us even deeper undercover or paint the biggest bulls-eye the galaxy has ever seen.'

It took Commander Nash a moment longer to shake himself out of his daze. A glance at the over head DRADIS repeater showed the fleet in position and ready for action. Although the debris field obscured some of the systems details, it was abundantly clear that the Cylons were no longer a threat here.

"After Raptor 909 can confirm it is safe to handle," announced Nash, "I want the message buoy brought onboard and stored in the secure lock up in the rear of the Port flight pod. As of right now, I want a communications lock down on any details about this message buoy. Nothing, I repeat, nothing about this buoy is to leave the CIC. Do I make myself clear?!"

Acknowledging the flurry of 'Yes, sir's, Nash then turned his attention to the Colonel.

"Simpson, I need you to carry out the ground portion of this mission. I want the landing, surveying and construction to begin as quickly as possible. Thank the gods that we won't have to worry about losses this time 'round. Once you've initiated that process, take some Raptors and survey the damage to the Cylons. I want to know what hit them, how hard, and how fast. What ever you have to report, do it in person. For the time being the less people who know the better."

"Yes, Sir," responded Simpson. With a salute, he quickly made his way to the awaiting Raptor and the newest mystery in Colonial history.

Almost as if the others could feel the Commander's will, activity in the CIC rapidly returned to normal. The only common thought that ran through everyone's head was:

'What the Hades is going on, and who are these people?!'

*Picon Fleet HQ*

*Picon*

*Three Weeks Later*

To say that the message buoy retrieved by the Valkyrie was driving the Colonial Intelligence (CI) paranoid was greatly understating the obvious. Knowing that there were other unknown human worlds out there was cause for cautious enthusiasm. That one of these worlds was actively observing and assisting was reason for deep concern. But to have them able to insert a reconnaissance team unobserved and uninvited was the basis for the greatest nightmare scenario that CI could have possibly imagined.

The analysis of the message alone created two headaches. Trying to trace anyone's movements in Caprica quickly became a lost cause. For all intents and purposes, the records were lost beyond recovery. The more religious of the analysts agreed with the original Comm officer's assessment. Of course, it was confirmed the person was speaking 'Caprican', but the tone, the inflection, even some of the phrasings pointed toward a more Kobolian root than what was used today.

Untraceable teams? A modern language with ancient overtones? Who the Hades were these people?!

Although their observations and speculations had been sent back with the message buoy, Commander Nash found himself ordered to transfer command of the Djerba Forward Operations Base (FOB) and to return to Picon at best possible speed. What began in confusion swiftly became astonishment as they reached the planet. Flag ships from every active fleet the Colonies had were presently in orbit about the planet making it the most prized target the Cylons could ever hope for, and making it the greatest tactical mistake anyone could make during wartime. But the President had demanded it, and everyone responded.

The trip from ship to conference was brisk and uneventful. The skies around Picon were noticeably empty of any civilian traffic; this being ordered by martial decree. The conference took place in a subterranean hall many metres below the surface. In the centre of the room sat a table, a circular ring approximately 15 to 20 metres in diameter liberally populated by chairs, microphones and notepads. The open area in the middle contained the large monitors for displaying various images. A ring of lights illuminated the conference table while leaving the extreme edges cloaked in darkness. As each officer entered the room, a subordinate directed them to their assigned seat in a quick and efficient manner.

Many of the officers questioned their neighbors, wondering why this meeting was called for in the first place. Many rumors abounded, none fully substantiated. When Admiral Adama noticed as his son-in-law being escorted into the room to a different table, it seemed likely that the rumored events surrounding the Djerba operation may have more substance than any of the others. Only time would tell.

Personnel rose to their feet as the President and Fleet Admiral Nagala entered the room.

"Please, be seated," offered Adar.

With a permissive nod from the President, Nagala began the briefing.

"I realize that this is not the appropriate time or method to gather everyone together, but we need all the experienced input we can get for what is becoming a rather unusual turn of events. It is common knowledge that the Valkyrie and its Battle Group left four weeks ago to assault and set up an FOB in the Djerba system. Considering the potential losses we anticipated, two additional Zeus class War Stars were included as backup. The results were an exceptional success, but in the process we now know that there is another player in this war."

The Admiral paused for a moment to let the background whisperings to die down before he continued.

"When the Valkyrie and her Battle Group jumped in, all they found was a debris field orbiting the planet Djerba. Subsequent reconnaissance flights over the planet found that any and all planet based installations were similarly demolished. Thankfully this meant that we could claim the planet with absolutely no losses of ships and personnel."

But amongst the orbiting debris was a message buoy very similar to ones we employ." The central screens began displaying images for all to see. "Shortly after the fleet's arrival, the homing beacon signal put out by the buoy was replaced with the following message."

As the recorded message played itself out, there was a myriad of whispering, shushing, and murmurs that ran about the room. Battle hardened veterans of many campaigns sat impassionate, but with their eyes widening slightly as concern, worry, and the occasional wonder flickered across their faces.

Having already heard the message first hand, Colonel Simpson sat back to quietly observe the group's reaction. Until now he, like the others, had heard most of the myths and legends about worlds of humans living outside of the 12 Colonies of Man. In all cases these ideas were brushed aside as simply that: rumours, myths, and wild flights of fancy. But now to have one of those legends to be able to prove itself as fact, Tim was concerned how the Colonial mentality was going to be able to handle it.

"Do we know anything concrete about these people?" piped up a voice from the far side.

Nagala shook his head. "Nothing more than what we've heard in the recording."

"Have we been able to dig up any proof of this so-called 'team's' existence?"

A quiet, unadorned woman on the President's left spoke up in response.

"No, and that is what's pissing off the Intelligence community as a whole. Even with what we have, the chance of finding out is now slim to nil. Any Caprican records are either destroyed or buried under irradiated garbage. Good luck finding any sane individual willing to try to recover THAT and survive."

"Is there any chance this is a last-gasp Cylon trick or something to drive us so paranoid that we'd question each other's loyalty?"

Admiral Nagala turned to give Commander Nash a piercing stare.

"Commander, I think that you would be best to answer that question. You were there after all."

"I don't believe so," Nash began, glancing at the others in the room. "Considering the losses the Cylons have been suffering lately, they couldn't afford to lose the amount of ships and personnel that they did at Djerba. A rough calculation based on the amount of debris we found in the system placed the enemy fleet at about nine Basestars. That is almost double the number reported by the scouting Raptors two days prior. If nothing else, that tells me that they intended to keep this system."

"And at the same time, I need to point out another pertinent detail. The scouts we sent in left the system 48 hours before my Battle Group jumped in. Not only does this make for a very narrow window of opportunity, but the fire power required to inflict this amount of damage in that amount of time is far and above anything we or the Cylons have in our respective arsenals. The debris in orbit seems to be composed of entirely materials of Cylon origin, nothing else. If I had to hazard a guess, it was a fast, one-sided massacre. The Cylons didn't have a chance."

"So, are you saying that the entire operation was accomplished entirely through orbital bombardment?"

The Commander turned and gave Simpson a nudge.

"You were on the surface, Colonel Simpson. What's your opinion?"

Turning a glass of water in his hands, Simpson took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"During the recon and construction of the FOB," he began, "I had the opportunity to take a closer look at the planet-side carnage. From pole to pole, and all the way around the equator, not one Cylon installation was overlooked. As Commander Nash has already noted, this was nothing short of a massacre. As for it being entirely orbital in nature, not a chance. The accuracy and collateral strike damage inflicted was consistent with what you would see done by a precision fighter strike."

With a scrutinizing look, Admiral Adama queried, "What makes you think that fighters were used and not Capital ships?"

"The damage done was small and on target, with very little wastage on the side," replied Simpson. "If this had come from orbit the scoring would have been larger, and the collateral damage area around the target would have been bigger. No, this was a surgical strike done up close and personal."

There was a pause before Simpson continued.

"I didn't want to add this next part, only because how crazy it would sound. I am not able to classify the weapons used in this strike. The damage inflicted was above and beyond anything I've seen anywhere in the Colonies. Where there were 'intact' centurions to inspect," he air quoted, "the strikes literally melted through the armour and the interior superstructure. The ground around the targets was littered with globs and shards of glass. To me it was like a bizarre scene from recent sci-fi flick."

Although these people haven't said much about themselves," continued a shaky Admiral Nagala, "what they have had to say about our war is nothing less than astounding. When we finally opened up the buoy, we found two sets of documents. The first set of documents has seemingly given us the entire list of Cylon staging areas and the cold calculated jump coordinates to put us right on target."

Many heads snapped up at this tidbit of news. Gone were the weeks of searching, endangering crews for little or no results. This could bring the war to a close in almost no time!

"And the other set of documents, sir?"

Admiral Nagala nervously looked at Adar almost as if to ask permission. The President gave him a grudgingly weary nod of assent.

"The second set of documents were the most disturbing. As you can all imagine, the basic Centurion has been upgraded from the 'chrome toaster' that is the most familiar to us. Strength, endurance, flexibility, things we assumed would be upgraded. What we did not expect was the development of a whole new series of Cylon models. Simply put, they have made great strides in the area of cybernetics, creating 8 human form models. So very life like, that you would not realize you'd met one until you were told. Take a look for yourselves."

One after one, the images of the eight models were displayed on the central overhead screens. Gasps, groans, along with "Isn't that…" were interspersed with "Oh my gods…". The gathered people were stunned to see images, or in some cases close relatives, of individuals they knew or met on a daily basis.

"Gods!" muttered Cain. "I know some of these 'people'! Do you know how we're supposed to weed them out before we have a widespread panic on our hands?"

"CI was quick on the mark with this one," remarked Adar. "Over the past two weeks, very quiet raids were performed, rounding up the more high profile infiltrators. In another week or so, announcements will be released simultaneously on all 12 worlds of these Cylon models. I'm not going to be naïve enough to assume there will be no bloodshed, gods knows the losses we've had during the strike on Caprica city, but I hope enough will be brought in for interrogation. We need to find out as much as we can to end this war as quickly as possible."

"If there is any concern from any officers present at this meeting, let me assure you that everyone present is a loyal Colonial. Some of you have no idea about this, but for what it is worth, I'm sorry for the excessively intrusive search CI has had to make into each one's background. No doubt you'll be getting an earful from your respected spouses the next time you make contact. We felt it necessary, considering the shadowy intents this unknown player has shown, or not shown, at this point in time."

There was a considerable pause in the brief as the President and advisers gathered and sorted through their notes. The other officers around the conference table began a low muttering and whispering, trying to get a grasp of the surprises that had just been recently revealed. Partially listening to the commander beside him, Simpson's gaze was drawn to the displays overhead, studying the images, the details, anything that would help him.

On each page, the model was displayed in a mug-style shot, front and side, with a quick description of personality and assumed purpose. Scanning further down the page, Simpson noted a sort of smudge at the bottom. A quick scan of the other 'bio's' provided a similar smudge at the bottom of those pages as well. Simpson moved forward in his seat to get a better view.

Commander Nash, noticing the change in his subordinate's concentration, piped up.

"What's up, Simpson? I've seen that look in your eye before. What are we missing here?"

"I don't know, Sir. But at the bottom of each page is a similar smudge, Mark, what ever you want to call it. I can't quite make it out, but it looks vaguely familiar. Is there any way of getting it enlarged?"

"Mr. President?" called out Nash.

"Yes, Commander Nash?"

"Is there any way of enlarging the bottoms of the first two pages? There is something there that isn't clearly visible."

The CI woman responded,"I assure you, Commander; the pages have been carefully analyzed. Any information that could be extracted has been."

"Would it hurt just to let the rest of us have a look?"

With the sigh of a parent humoring a difficult child, the woman made the adjustments. The difference was startling to Simpson.

"I don't believe it. Joe is not going to let me live this down." he quietly muttered to himself, settling back in his seat. "Earth."

Nash's head snapped around, almost causing him whiplash.

"Earth?" he commented out loud. "What are you talking about? This isn't the time for any cultist flights of fancy here."

Simpson was suddenly aware of the silence. Looking down to the people around him, he noticed he had everyone's undivided attention. Taking an audible swallow, he responded.

"It may be nothing, but the smudge at the bottom of each of these pages is actually a symbol I've seen before. During my leave, after returning on the Pegasus, I had gone to pay my respects to friends I had lost in Caprica City. While there, I ran into one friend that had survived and was then working at the Delphi museum. He and his girlfriend had assisted each other while working on interrelated artefacts and prophecies. One of the prophecies included a series of strange symbols, this being one. There was a reference to this being the directions to earth."

"Earth?" piped up one of the more pragmatic admirals. "What a load of crap. And I expect you'll say that the Lords will shortly come down and solve all of our problems, right?"

"Nash. Are you sure this man is mentally stable? After all, that he's been through?"

Simpson, in a moment of fury, stood up to address the others.

"I take great offence to that remark sirs. Just because I'm willing to keep my eyes open to what is around me doesn't mean I'm unstable. The documents in question are available for you to see if you wish. What is so special is that they are a part of a hermetically sealed collection that had survived since the period of the exodus from Kobol. And because of their age, they are opened only on rare occasions. It was only chance that I was there when Joe and Susan happened to pull them out to do research of their own."

Dropping into his seat, Simpson offered a parting shot.

"Everyday there's something new to know, people. And in combat, knowing is half the battle."

Offering a commanding stare around the table, Simpson noticed an accepting smirk from both Admirals Cain and Adama. The overall arrogance at the meeting had been building far too long, and it was the simple Colonel's observations that had knocked that arrogance down a peg. It was a sheepish Adar who cleared his throat.

"Clearly taken and understood, Colonel Simpson. I'll make sure that a team is sent to the museum to see if there is any other valid information that can be gleaned from those older documents. Is there anything else we should know before going in?"

"Just take your time, sir. The documents are ancient and in very delicate condition. Your contacts will be Joe Harris and Susan Karahalios. They are the one's mostly in charge of that section of the archives. I'm going to have to prepare a note for Joe, otherwise he'll think it's an invasion."

"It's nice to see we can finally name our 'friends,'" remarked Admiral Corman, "but is there any reason they can't just jump in and lay waste to these machines, Simpson?"

"Well," Simpson drawled, "I can think of two very apparent ones."

"And they are…"

"Firstly, they claim that they have their own enemies and obligations."

"That's nice. And how does that apply to us?"

"I'm not saying these people are warlike, but we all know how conflict can speed up the development of technology. Based on the damage inflicted on the Cylons, I can only imagine that for someone to have developed weapons, ships, computing power to this level indicates someone who has endured considerable conflict. The real question I would ask is: if they are able to field this level of technology, how powerful and dangerous are their enemies?"

There was a mutually unspoken nod of realization as Tim's assessment as universally agreed upon.

Breaking the silence, Nagala struggled to finish the briefing.

"At present, our fleet is comprised of 275 Battlestars, most of which are older ones reactivated from the mothball fleet. We are hoping to bring that past 300 in the very near future. Based on both, the information outlined in these documents and information we can gain from the captured Cylons, we are planning a single series of surgical strikes at each of the staging areas to take place simultaneously. With this we would end this war and remove the threat of the Cylons completely."

"Copies of the documents concerning the human form Cylons will be downloaded to the databases on each of your ships. This information is to be available to the Commander and XO until otherwise advised. Understood?"

"With respect to the Monster station the Cylons have, is there any further intel as to its location?," queried Commander Nash.

"The Monster Station, as you call it, we now know as the Home Colony of the Cylons. As to its location, we've not been able to come up with anything concrete at this point in time. The word is that it is always moving, but tends to keep to the core of their home territory. Just the same, though, when you get out there, keep a sharp eye open for it. The plan so far is that 100 Battlestars will be kept back to defend the Colonies. We're hoping that should be one Hades of a deterrent for any Cylons with ideas of retribution."

The rest of the meeting was boringly comprised of other housekeeping such as security and ongoing requests for resupply and repairs. Afterward, as Simpson stood around waiting while Commander Nash conferred with Admiral Nagala, he was approached by Admiral Adama.

"Colonel."

"Admiral. Something I can do for you?"

"Do you think I could wrangle you away from here for an hour?"

Tim chuckled, placing his forearm behind his back. "Twist my arm, sir. PLEASE twist my arm."

*Scorpion Shipyard*

*Battlestar Pegasus*

*Four Months Later*

It was a weary Colonel Simpson that occupied the co-pilot seat of the Raptor. He quietly pondered recent events, acknowledging that the past several months had been a complete whirlwind of activity both locally and for the colonies as a whole.

The weeding out of the Cylon infiltrators was done with much less public panic than what was first assumed. Baltar, for all of his posturing and arrogance, was the most humiliated of all. It was a great embarrassment to realize how close his womanising behaviour had come to manipulate him into orchestrating the fall of the Colonies. It was an unexpected show of humility that he accepted the military's conditions to be able to continue with his work in R&D.

Joe was initially rattled by the CI's invasion of the archives. He assumed that everything had finally hit the fan until he was passed Simpson's message. Simpson received a reply stating that he was a cruel man and that he would get his some day soon.

Records that had rarely seen the light of day since the Colonies' exodus from Kobol were now being carefully examined for anything that could explain their new benefactors. While the supposed existence of Earth was readily confirmed, there was nothing more that anyone could divine from the records except a series of six symbols. Their meaning and purpose were completely unknown as no other relics or artefacts had anything vaguely similar, leaving the researchers with more questions than answers.

As they approached the Pegasus, Simpson could clearly notice improvements over the older Battlestar; increased armour, improved manoeuvrability being just the most apparent. Like with the Valkyrie, Colonel Simpson decided to take a visual inspection of the ship, to appreciated her features for what they were rather than what was said on paper. During the slow run along the upper port side and the lower starboard side, he noticed details that had not been included in the original briefing; something he would need to take up with the Admiral when he landed.

The inspection brought up memories, some good and some bad. Unlike with the Pegasus, parting from Commander Nash had been neither easy nor pleasant. Between repeated cajoling and almost outright attempts at bribery for him to stay, the last month on the Valkyrie was extremely emotional. Between the threats of desertion and transfer requests, it was impressive the amount of loyalty he had gained from both the officers and enlisted men serving under him. Leaving had almost been like abandoning those who had began to rely on him for their continued well-being.

His moment of introspection was interrupted by the pilot's reply, "Raptor 425 on an inspection fly-by ordered by Colonel Simpson." In an attempt to forestall any problems for the pilot, Simpson donned the spare headset.

"Pegasus Control, this is Colonel Simpson. Raptor 425 will be landing in the next 5 to 10 minutes. I needed to do a 'walk around' before I came on board."

"Pegasus Control copies that, Colonel. We hope the Lady meets with your approval."

"That she does, Control. That she does. Simpson out."

Overhearing the communications with the inbound Raptor, Cain slightly shook her head in amusement. 'You could never take the pilot out of that man,' she thought to herself. But she wouldn't have it any other way. She could afford Simpson's little idiosyncrasies as the man's attention to detail had benefited the ship on a number of occasions. Before returning to the tasks at hand, Admiral Cain informed the deck crew to have Simpson report to the CIC as soon as he landed.

The first thing Simpson noticed on final approach was the lack of pot holes littering the flight deck, minimal scrapes, and scuffs. "So new that it's not even out of warrantee," muttered Simpson.

Not wanting to waste any time, it seemed like minutes later that Simpson entered the CIC. Noticing Cain at the tactical plotting table, Simpson approached and offered her a proper salute.

"Colonel Simpson reporting as ordered, Ma'am."

"Welcome back, Colonel. It's good to see you again."

Turning to the right, Admiral Cain called out, "Officer of the Deck? You have the Conn. I will be in my ready room with the Colonel."

"Understood, Ma'am," replied the Captain.

"Follow me, Colonel," Cain commented.

"It good to see you again, Tim," began Cain, as the two officers entered her ready room. "How was your tour on the Valkyrie?"

"On the whole, it was a good experience," Simpson replied, shaking his head, "But then, you knew I was being brought back to Pegasus. Right?"

"Very good, Colonel," replied Cain. "With all the changes going on, I needed you to know how to handle the position of XO. You sure as Hades weren't going to get the experience here, what with all the construction yet to be completed."

"So, instead of letting me go stale here in dry dock," mused Simpson, "you had Nash do the dirty work teaching me how to be an XO. Hands-on."

Cain nodded.

"Yes. With Belzen being made the commander of his own ship and Shaw being assigned as his XO, you were only one of the senior officers left that I could trust to take the XO position. But with your reluctance to advance, I needed you to gain the experience you needed to fill the position. Commander Nash was hesitant in the beginning, but I heard he quickly found you indispensable."

"Indispensable?," scoffed Tim. "It almost felt like an act of treason trying to leave that ship!"

"That's what Admiral Nagala warned me about," admitted Cain. "You left a hell of an impression behind you, Colonel. A hell of a GOOD impression. What I saw during the conference at Picon only confirmed my suspicions."

"Well, for all the good it did," replied Simpson, "I'm waiting for it to bite me in the backside."

"We'll see," commented Cain, thoughtfully.

"So how is the shakedown cruise going so far, Admiral?"

Cain paused before answering.

"It going well, so far. We're running into some major problems with the new FTL and sub-light drives. Given the fact the design is based on the technology we pulled from the Cylon database, I guess we're doing okay."

"Wait a minute!," responded Simpson. "New tech?! As in from the database we recovered from Djerba?"

"You got it in one, Colonel. This ship is a flying test bed for the intended upgrades we have planned for the fleet."

Simpson muttered some very inventive evil curses under his breath.

"It has always been my belief that this is not the best way to approach to improvements , Admiral. Too many untested systems in one ship at one time is not a good thing. Best case scenario, If something goes wrong, we could be in for a very long walk back. Worse case scenario, if a number of things go wrong, there may be nothing to walk back from."

"Kiss. Kiss. Why don't more people follow it," Tim nervously muttered to himself?

"EXCUSE ME, Colonel?," remarked a startled Admiral Cain.

"No, no. Not you, Admiral," responded a sheepish Simpson. "KISS is a philosophy I tend to follow. It's the reason why many of my plans work so well. I always try to remember K.I.S.S. Keep It Simple, Stupid."

"Okay, then," said a mollified Cain. "But at the same time, I can understand it. Simple works. Something I"ll have to remember from time to time."

Before any thing else could be said, the office door opens admitting an attractive woman Simpson recognized as being from the Technical Upgrades office.

"Oh! Sorry, Helena. Is this a bad time?"

"Colonel Simpson, I would like to introduce Gina Morris from the Upgrade crew. Gina, this is Colonel Simpson, my new XO. And no, Gina, this is not a bad time. The Colonel and I were bringing each other up to date on various points of our activities."

Looking at Cain out of the corner of his eye, Simpson raised an eyebrow. "Something new, Admiral?" he smirked.

"Not one word from you, Tim," Helena growled, looking with her patented evil stare, "Not one word. Or, I swear by the gods, I'll have your wife, and Starbuck transferred over so fast, it'll make your head spin. From what Admiral Adama says, they KNOW how to keep you in line.

Seeing the Admiral with a gentle pink blush over her face, Tim just sat there with a knowing smile on his face and his hands up in surrender.

"I didn't see anything wrong, Ma'am. In fact, I'm happy for you. As far as I'm concerned, it's a private affair, with absolutely nothing to do with me."

Turning to Gina, Tim continued.

"Miss Morris, it has been a pleasure meeting you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around from time to time."

Executing a textbook withdrawal, Simpson slipped from the ready room and made his way back to the CIC.

Making the most of his time, Simpson spent the rest of his shift familiarizing himself with the ship's layout and details. Remembering his earlier discussion with the Admiral, Simpson cringed as he noticed more and more of the 'Next Generation' improvements the designers had added to the Pegasus. He only hoped that they wouldn't end up biting the crew in the backside.

*Battlestar Pegasus*

*In mid-system of Helios Alpha*

*One Month Later*

The Pegasus was completing the final leg of her Shakedown Cruise with all onboard systems proving themselves better than the XO had originally believed. To have built a Battlestar with so many untested systems was folly. To have done so during wartime was just begging for the unmerciful attentions of Até herself.

Simpson thought back to the days before disclosure when the Prometheus, the first of the Earth fleet, would provide a never fail to provide an unending stream of issues. At times there seemed to be an ongoing betting pool what the next problem would be. The, then Colonel Carter, seemed beside herself as she and her army of technicians battled to solve one problem after another. Simpson just prayed that this would not be the case for the Pegasus.

To most of the surviving warriors, the War had taken on a different look and feel. The once oppressive Cylons were now withdrawn and defensive. It was almost as if they were building up their forces for one last big hurrah. But then again, no one was sure of even that. For the time being, they could only keep a vigilant watch on the DRADIS screen, hoping and wondering when this war would end.

Colonel Simpson was present in the CIC, keeping the 'Afternoon' watch, when the Admiral made her appearance. A quick glance at the room's clock confirmed that she was early for her shift, usually meaning something was up.

"Admiral. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine, Colonel," Cain assured him. "I'm here just to get an update on the ship's status. Is everything ready to go?"

"Almost, Admiral. All ships are present and accounted for," replied Simpson. "It's just that the late arrivals are jockeying themselves into position. At this rate we should be ready to jump within the hour."

Cain looked on with a small smile on her face. "Are you ready to get back in the fight, Colonel?"

"A little bit, Admiral," smirked Simpson, "but also just a little bit hesitant. The last time I hit the front, the front hit back with one hell of a surprise. I'm not sure anyone would care for another one just yet."

"Yes, the message buoy from Earth," commented Cain, thoughtfully. "I'm really wondering what their whole game plan is. Why don't they show themselves instead of all these 'cloak and dagger' operations of theirs?"

"We just have no idea what it has been like for them all this time," Simpson commented after a thoughtful pause. "It's been thousands of years since they left, and who knows what problems they may have encountered. Who knows, maybe it's that they have had to travel a radically different path than what we have. We'll never know until we meet face to face."

Earth Defence Forces Headquarters

Washington, DC

General O'Neill was looking over reports with a bitter sweet smile on his face. The Ori forces had finally been defeated, but at a cost. They had lost 15 of the 50 Prometheus class cruisers they had been using for local defence. It had been a gamble in the first place, but this clearly showed that even armed with the advanced technology, the Prometheus was simply outclassed by anything that was floating out there these days. Somehow they would have to speed up production of the newer classes to ensure that the other threats out there wouldn't just walk all over them.

Hearing footsteps in the outer office, O'Neill raised his head in time to see General Samantha Carter stride in. The look on her face spoke of problems. Not Earth ending, thankfully, but problems just the same.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

"I know we've got a policy of keeping the public informed," she replied, dropping a newspaper on his desk, "but I think we have a leak somewhere."

At first glance, everything seemed okay. The headlines and contents looked to be what the PR people had issued in the last news release. Jack, puzzled, looked back up at Carter.

"It looks okay to me. What's wrong?"

"Check the small article on the bottom right of the front page."

Gazing down, the breath seemed to catch in his throat as he read the special mention. In a small, one column article, there was announcement that the UEF had decided on placing Admiral Timothy Simpson as the Commanding Officer of the UEF Fifth Fleet. Below an earlier military photo was also a brief biography that included, of all things, that he was presently on a deep cover assignment within some place known as the 12 Colonies of Kobol.

With a cold granite look in his eyes, he stabbed at the intercom on his desk.

"Janice, I want you to contact all military leaders on the planet right now! There will be a meeting here in the next 30 minutes, no exceptions. Anyone trying to beg off will be transported in regardless of their state of dress, or how delicate a position they're in."

"What the hell….," he muttered to himself.

"Jack?" she said, stepping back in defense. "I wasn't aware we were making Tim an Admiral."

"That's because no one was supposed to know," growled O'Neill. "Right now, we are assuming he has survived the war simply on the basis of how good he was against Anubis, and how well he'd survived up to the last check in they had made. The Asgard only detected two markers in the Caprica City debris. We can only assume the other two are still alive."

"Simpson was being chosen based on the fact that he is the only one with any usable understanding of space combat. This war with the Cylons is honing that with experience we are going to need to train our forces into something that can defend us. After a lengthy discussion with Admiral Cole, it seemed that Simpson would be the natural choice, as soon as we could extract him from the Colonies."

"It's kinda ironic, don't you think, Sam? The team's original orders were to avoid contact with the Colonial Military. Instead they get caught up in the thick of things mixing it up with the very people they were told to avoid. And in the process they gain the experience and knowledge about skills we were going to need the most. Call it fate, karma, or that someone out there is really looking after our backsides."

"After our losses with Anubis, the Ori and ongoing encounters with the Wraith, we've lost more experienced pilots and commanders than what we can afford. Sure we can field the ships and personnel, but most of them are still green as grass, and have no more effect than simple cannon fodder. We need people like Simpson to help rebuild and retrain those people into something more effective."

Carter paused a moment before speaking. "So if this is the case, why keep his name off the list in the first place? Why not make any mention of his present status?"

"Because we are stretched damned thin as it is, Sam," O'Neill groaned, as he tilted back in his chair. "Because our present adversaries seem to be under control, the public might get it in their minds that we need to help our poor, beleaguered cousins. And right now we can't commit anything substantial to assist them without incurring greater costs to our own forces. 'Green', remember?"

"And, the general consensus is that until their war is done and finished, we cannot afford to distract them with something as silly as a first contact scenario while the Cylons are still a threat. Everyone in the tactical staff agree that would be the most disastrous outcome."

"And so," began a pondering Sam Carter, "just like before, the cycle begins again. The public cries out to help the Colonials, not realising that we're not quite finished with the problems of our own, let alone haven't got the ships to spare for an operation of that size. The ultimate in Catch-22 leaving us as the butt of the Galaxies newest joke."

Looking O'Neill in the eye, she continued with her thoughts.

"I realise that we need the ships but what the public expects us to accomplish is impossible. We can hardly hold Atlantis and Asura as it is, and it's only because of the drones. It's amazing that we haven't lost both systems to Wraith already, but with the way things are going, it's only a matter of time."

"I've done everything I can to speed up production, but it still takes several months just to complete an X-305, 6, or 7. The biggest problem is the size and complexity of the components involved. Sure it's easy and quick to build an X-304, but against the Wraith, it's under powered and under armed. Somewhere we're going to have to strike a balance between what we can have and what we're going to need."

"Even with the increased production speed that you have provided," Jack sighed, "our problem right now is that we only have a grand total of 150 ships in our fleet. That includes everything from the venerable X-303 to the X-307 that launched just yesterday. Thanks to the Council's oh-so wise interference, ship construction is a middle priority with Orbital Defence platforms being top of the list to protect Earth, Pegasus, and any of the other colonies we may have out there. At this rate, it will be years before the fleet will be at a size to be taken seriously."

"So," replied Carter, "are you telling me to reconfigure that empty 307 bay for more 304's?"

"No, lay the keel for the next 307. We're going to need something with some solid hitting power to back up what we already have to deal with the Wraith. The 304's have their place but we'll still need their big brothers in the fight right along side them."

"I can only hope to God that Simpson is still alive," O'Neill muttered wearily. "That so called 'Rain of Death' didn't just rob us of our loved ones, it robbed us of talented military personnel that could have been of great help to us right now. I admire Thor for going out on a limb for us, but even all the high tech isn't worth spit if you don't have the people to use it effectively. I know we need to retrieve Simpson, but we'll have to do it at a time that is the least disruptive to the Colonies. And as painfully as this may sound, we're going to have to do with what we've got until that opportunity presents itself."

Office of the Prime Minister

Brussels, Belgium

Two Days Later

Prime Minister Rose Tyler was not a happy camper. Strike that, she was pissed. Because of the leak to the paper, the media was having a feeding frenzy trying to flesh out this mystery Admiral. When the paper that published the leak was approached, they immediately clammed up claiming something about anonymity of their sources. That tune quickly changed when the military lawyers advised them about potential treason charges for releasing secure information during a wartime operation.

Information was offered, provided, and in some cases poured out most willingly to avoid the potential consequences. The only problem was that everyone had the same story; the page left the editor's computer with all of the PR approved information, but had somehow been altered by the time the printer mounted the plates on the printing presses. Absolutely no one had any idea how or why the changes had been made.

The meeting of the UEF High Command was tense and nervous. It was made all the more intimidating with the calm, icy stare that Tyler laid on the officers, one by one.

"Now People! Do we have ANY idea who or how this was done?"

"Not at this time, Madame Prime Minister," admitted Admiral Cole. "But rest assured that when we find out, and we will, those involved will pay dearly for this."

"And the political and tactical fallout so far?"

"On a morale level, the public seems to feel safer 'knowing' we have the ability to keep the world safe. Logistically, it's a different story."

"We've had to re-think our planning and allocation of resources. The Fifth Fleet was supposed to be in quiet reserve, being built up slowly as the assets became available. Now with the fleet squarely in the public eye, every one assumes that it is a fully operational unit just waiting to do its part. In reality, we're having to scramble to redirect any spare ships that were earmarked for the other fleets; all for the purpose of giving the Fifth Fleet the appearance of being ready."

"The public are also responding just as they did with the other leaks," the Intelligence member commented. "Already we've been hearing of whispers wondering when we'll get off our backsides and help these poor people. Apparently Admiral Simpson is admired for at least doing his part 'over there', while back here some people are asking the question, 'Why aren't we?' "

"Is there any way we can offer any assistance?," queried Minister Hammond. "A couple of missions here and there won't seem like much, but it might put us in a stronger position when the time comes to open talks with the Colonials. It might even ameliorate the situation when they realize that we've placed 'spies' among them? I know personally that I would question their intentions if I found one of their spies had made his way up in our military."

Admiral Cole shook his head regretfully.

"As much as I would like to, Minister, I really don't think that would work right now. Yes, the BC-307 Hood has been working through its shakedown tour and the Bismarck was just launched, but in both cases the crews are green and inexperienced. In battle, that is effectively sending a valuable ship out on a suicide mission with no value gained from the loss."

"And nothing is being done to change this?!," asked a stunned PM.

"We're in the process of taking a page out of the US Naval manual, so to say," commented Indian General Rajive. "Back during the Vietnam war, the US instituted the Naval Fighter Weapons School to relearn dogfighting for the pilots."

"Don't tell me," groaned O'Neill. "Top Gun?"

"Please don't shoot me, but yes. Top Gun. The big difference is that multiple schools are being set up for all aspects of operations, from the bridge all the way down to engineering. We're training the best initially and working our way down the list, hoping that by the time we hit the bottom, much of what has been taught will have filtered through to the others. Our only limitation is the qualified personnel we have to teach them."

"And I assume that Admiral Simpson is one of those qualified to teach, right?," PM Tyler asked. "So what is keeping us from simply going in, finding him, beaming him out and being on our way?"

"Not just the time and inconvenience to locate him, Ma'am, but the potential upheaval in the Colonial's Campaign against the Cylons," responded General O'Neill. "Try to imagine that you're fighting for your life against a known enemy in front of you, only to find out an unknown and unexpected enemy about to strike from behind. It's unsettling, demoralizing, and something you do not recover from too readily."

"I was discussing this earlier with General Carter, Ma'am. Simpson, if he is still alive, is in there for the duration. All we can possibly do is guerilla strikes to aid them as best we can. The best time to get Simpson out is when all is said and done, and not a moment sooner."

"I see," muttered Tyler. Turning in her seat, she faced the lone diplomat at the meeting. "Your input, Mr. Woolsey?"

"No matter how you play this," Woolsey replied slowly, "this has all the makings of a nightmare. I agree removing Admiral Simpson right now would be disastrous. At the same time, having the Colonials find out one of their own is a 'spy' is not going to curry favours from them any time soon. They might think we were in it to gather technology for our own benefits at their expense."

"But on the other hand, the sacrifices Simpson and his team have made on the Colonial's behalf might look more favourably on us in the long run. Especially if we were to 'sweeten the pot' so to say. The technology they possess is somewhat antiquated in comparison to what we commonly use. If we were to offer plans, schematics, or hints to things they would have accomplished on their own in, say, the next decade or so, it might soften the blow when they fully realize what is going on."

"In other words," commented Tyler, "offer them just enough but not so much that they would become a danger to themselves and anyone around them?"

"Like teaching a kid how to build a slingshot, but not a P-90?," commented Carter.

"Exactly," replied Woolsey. "Enough to help defend, without giving them more than what we think they can handle for now."

"The nice thing about this," interjected General O'Neill, "is that the Colonials final assault on the Cylon home world won't take place for another few months. This should give us the time we need to bring both the Bismarck and the Hood up to a level of readiness to assist them effectively. With us using those two to soften the target up, it should be a piece of cake. Can anyone think of any snags we might run into?"

Richard Woolsey looked over at General Carter.

"General Carter, I was informed that you had made some overall design changes with the new BC-307's. What were they, may I ask?"

"Well, because of our present lack of support ships, I had to make them multitasking, and self… support… Oh, Crap!"

"I thought so," commented Woolsey. "Something like the Colonial Battlestars, maybe?"

"Very much so," responded Carter. "Close enough that they will see the similarity. In my defence, I used the overall design because of its robustness and general survivability in combat. I really didn't mean to 'plagiarizer' anything so drastically. Even some of the crews have taken to calling them 'Battlestars'."

"We can only hope," Woolsey said with a chuckle, "that they consider it the ultimate in compliments."

"Alright people," interrupted PM Rose Tyler. "Be it as it may, the public wants us to offer help to the Colonials when they assault the Cylon Home world. I don't care if all we can do is to hit-and-run the Cylons, I want the Colonials know that we were there helping where we could. What I don't want is another society turning their guns on us because they feel we owe them for some reason. Do I make myself clear?"

"I believe," responded General O'Neill," I answer for the others, Madame Prime Minister, when I say, 'We understand and we will make it happen one way or another'."


	8. End of the War

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate in anyway shape or form the lucky people of MGM do. I also do not own Battlestar Galactica the people of NBC own it. I am only writing the story for fun and nothing else.

 **SG-13 The Cylon War**

 **Chapter 8**

 **War Ends and Going Home**

Battlestar Pegasus

Pegasus Strike Force

Colonial Fleet Staging Area

The mood about the Colonies had altered. Some didn't know why, but it had. They felt as if they had arrived on the cusp of a change in their collective history. It was as if ultimate victory or defeat was within their grasp and the common citizen was unsure how to tip it one way or the other.

The Military did. The orders had finally come down from the Admiralty; the assault was on. The time had come to put an end to the Cylon threat once and for all. The colonial industry had worked its miracles and provided the required Battlestars, and now it was the military's turn to use those Battlestars to eliminate the threat.

"Maybe Simpson had it right in the first place," Cain thought nervously to herself as she made her way to the CIC, "Gods, please don't let us frak this up!" The Admiral had read and re-read the orders multiple times, almost committing them to memory. She knew they had the forces, but even the uncertainties of battle could negate any advantages the Colonials had built up. The assault on the mystery station was a prime example of that.

And what of Earth? That was a riddle wrapped up in an enigma and tied up with a conundrum. Their ships had never been seen, but the havoc they wreaked upon the Cylons was beyond what R&D could ever imagine. Originally any information they had was being dished out in dribs and drabs. Now, by somehow hacking one of the secure ship-to-ship communications channels, updates of Cylon forces were just flooding in.

Cain was all for putting paid to the atrocities the Cylons had done to them but in the back of her mind, she worried. Better the devil you knew rather the one you didn't.

Arriving at the CIC, she motioned to the marine to remain quiet to give her the opportunity to observe the controlled chaos that was her bridge. Looking at it as a whole, rather than person by person, Cain began to get a feel for the ebb and flow of the traffic. In most cases, it would move from one location to another, but eventually, it would tend to spiral and collect around one point; Colonel Simpson. He looked as busy as a one-armed weapons tech trying to mount a two-handed missile. And the frustration only grew as the supplied paperwork grew deeper and deeper.

Nodding again to the marine, Cain entered the CIC.

"Admiral on the Bridge!," he announced.

"As you all were," Cain offered in reply.

"Colonel Simpson."

"Admiral Cain," Simpson replied, a worried look in his eyes. "Is there something wrong, Ma'am?"

"Not at all, Colonel. Just checking to see how things are coming along."

"A bloody nightmare if you ask me, Ma'am," Simpson replied tersely.

"I beg your pardon!"

"Sorry, Ma'am, but from what I remember of your last encounters with the Cylons, I'd tip my hat to those admirals who could work this planning out with non-networked terminals. The information I'm having to wade through right now is almost driving me insane. In reality, the arranging should be done in the next ten minutes, barring any last minute changes. The orders should be cut and ready for your approval 20 minutes after that."

"Good work, Colonel. And if you ever get the urge to see what it was like 'in the good ole days,' check with Admiral Adama. He'd know first hand."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Simpson replied with a grin.

Tim returned to the task with a will. He could sense that this was to be the end game, the finish, the finale.

From this there was no 'do over'. Based on intel provided by Earth, the Cylon staging areas were laid out in a neat little pattern, suspected fleet sizes, and possible composition. The biggest part of his problems were the changed specs on some of the newer battlestars. The upgrades had them jumping faster and farther, in a sense setting a new 'red line' that they could operate within. Trying to mix the two 'generations' resulted in amending to some of the orders to ensure that the newer ones wouldn't leave the others behind. Beyond that, old or new, the battlestars were still capable of dishing out more than what the Basestar could handle in a one-on-one confrontation.

One thing that concerned Simpson was the rumor that after the Cylons had been defeated, the Admiralty intended to keep the fleet at its present size. With Earth as an unknown, they figured that it would be best to keep the fleet in a ready condition. Who knew where Earth was located, if they would ever make contact, let alone what other problems could be lurking in the shadows.

Down in the pilot's ready room of the Galactica, Sarah was taking a quiet moment to check and re-check her gear. Ever since his assignment to the Valkyrie, and later on the new Pegasus, they had found it hard to get time alone. There had been that short leave they had scraped together a month ago, but she didn't feel that it had been enough. She had to admit that the excitement of the war may have driven them to do things they might not have done otherwise. But now with things possibly winding down, would Tim still want to stay with her?

"Cubit for your thoughts?"

"Wha…," Sarah stuttered, looking up. "Oh. It's you, Starbuck. Not really. I think you'd be short changed."

"Let me be the judge of that," Starbuck chuckled. "One person's trash is another person's treasure. You, for example, are probably thinking about that hard to find husband of yours. Am I right? Do the two of you have plans for when this is all said and done?"

"I don't know," came the quiet reply. "I know that Tim will want to retire as soon as the war is over. I just don't understand why? He's come so far and so fast but in the end his willing to let it go so easily. With his experience it wouldn't be long before he'd become a commander, possibly getting his own ship. Why would he give all that up so easily?"

"You've got to remember something, Sarah," Starbuck commented sagely, "Your family is career military. Tim didn't get the choice to fight or not to fight. He was just a civilian pilot who proved to be gifted in a Viper. Then, luckily or unluckily, his other innate skills caught the attention of the Admiral, propelling him into the spotlight. Maybe he just didn't feel comfortable there, or possibly he knows he won't be able to keep up to the same amazing standards during peacetime. All I know is that Tim will know what is best for Tim."

"I know," Sarah said with a sigh. "I think it's just a waste of talent to take all that he's gained in the Fleet, and then just quietly return to civilian life. It's almost as if he wants to hide. Hades, he seems good at that. There is so much about him that I don't know about, and it's driving me insane. I know he loves me, but if he can't trust me enough to let me in, I wonder if it will be worth it in the end?

Seated in his quarters, Admiral Adama took a sip from the glass on his desk, pondering the the orders that had just been transmitted from the Pegasus. The assault they covered was to take place in three days time. Reading between the lines, Adama could see, with concern, that this was an all or nothing plan. In the end, either the Cylons were finished, or the Colonies were.

'Give your all for the War.'

'Us or Them'

Adama remembered those slogans from the previous war. His friend Coker had spouted them off with such derision, trying to impress upon a young Ensign Adama that the war had become less of ideals and more of survival. If Tim hadn't been part of the team planning and arranging this assault, Adama would have had great worries that this was all just a show, propaganda to raise the morale of the troops and the folks back home. Thankfully all he needed to worry about is how to deal with any other surprises the Cylons might have in store for them.

*Cylon Colony*

One was in a foul mood as he made his way down the hallways of the Cylon Colony. The mighty Cylon Fleet, the Great Plan to eradicate the vile humans, was being systematically shattered. Not only had the Colonials been able to recover from the initial destruction and fight back, but now there had been reports of Battlestar like ships appearing out of some strange form of FTL dealing death and destruction far beyond anything anyone had seen before.

Entering the Central Control, he could feel the fear and desperation wash over him. More than one eye glanced his way in disgust. What was once a sure thing had now degraded to a fight just to leave something surviving at the end of it all. The remaining 150 Basestars were but a fraction of the original fleet that had been at their disposal. In a last-ditch attempt to ensure the survival of the Cylon race, One had dispersed the fleet over a number of different systems in the hope that the Colonials would never be able to target them all. Still, he believed that the overwhelming firepower of the Cylon Colony would be able to repel any attack the Colonies could mount.

That belief began to shatter moments later when the alarms rang throughout the colony as three unknown ships entered their space. While the dissipating energies were something that no one had seen before, the ship's forms were definitely Colonial in origin. The response was swift. Almost immediately, any weapons emplacement that was able to take aim was belching out either missile or KEW round as fast as they could. Raiders, both heavy and attack, streamed from their launch points to form a cloud of death as they moved to envelop the intruders.

Strangely, the new ships failed to approach the Station, instead electing to keep themselves at what the Cylons knew to be the extreme limit for Colonial weapons accuracy. As the missiles and fighters approached their position, the Battlestar look-alikes actually held their fire as if to decide the best way to deal with the Cylon response.

'So much the better,' John thought to himself, as he watched the first of many nuclear-tipped missiles reach their targets. Looking through the eyes of an observing Heavy Raider, John saw the results as hundreds of explosions began surrounding the three ships. 'A fitting tombstone to those who would challenge our might,' he cackled over the neural link. He was turning his attention to other details when a gasp stopped him in his tracks.

'They're still there!'

Quickly looking back John could see, through the cooling hell fires of nuclear fury, the trio of strangers still there, unmoved and unharmed. But now sensors could detect the build-up of energies on board that defied any reasonable explanation for ships of that size. Moving as one, the three ships oriented themselves in a way that could only mean one thing. Retribution.

The response from the trio was something that only writers for a bad sci-fi flick from the colonies could have thought up. Beams of coherent blue-white light began emanating from emitters from the bows of the ships. Along the pods, missiles were launched to join the beams as they swiftly made their way to the Station. Occasionally a Raider would successfully intercept a beam or a missile. To the missiles, an impressive fireball would erupt. To the Beams, nothing seemed to stop them. It was when these struck the Station that the Cylons realized how frakked they were.

For just a moment, John's hands were jolted from the data stream as he felt the shock of the incoming explosions. Quickly slipping back in, he was able to realize the extent of the carnage. The missiles easily had the force in the high megaton range, while the beam itself was able to slice through any armor in its way. These ships had to be deal with and FAST!

"Fire everything we've got at the three intruders! Anything that has any sort of lock on those ships is to fire. They are dangerous and need to be removed NOW!" John bellowed.

The three Tau'ri ships were giving as good as they got. The supposed 'softening' of the Cylon fleet was turning into an outright slugfest with both sides letting loose with everything they had. The Earthers were steadily chipping away with the powerful Asgard beam weapons, taking out specific weapons points and defending Basestars, while the Cylons blanketed them with massive missile fire in return.

John wondered if it could get any worse.

Ironically, just after forming that thought, Admiral Cain's fleet of 75 Battlestars jumped in opposite the unknowns.

Admiral Cole studied the tactical display as the Colonial fleet made its appearance. He smirked as he realized that it was going to suck being a Cylon right about now. With a sigh of relief he knew the mission mandate was being fulfilled for the moment, but with a cursory glance at the display, he began updating his previous orders.

"Mr. Garvin, signal the Reliant and the Endeavour to perform a slow tactical withdrawal. We're to continue firing, but with the Colonials in the system, they're bound to surround this station to maximize their firepower. We want to avoid hitting any Colonial craft that might stray into our firing solutions. Understood?"

"Understood, Admiral..."

There was a pregnant pause in the navigator's voice.

"Uhm, Admiral?"

"Yes, Mr. Garvin?"

"The scanning program you had me start running when we entered the system just came back with a hit."

"What? You mean one of memebers SG-13 is actually still alive? Son of a… Can you tell me who it is?"

"Based on the Asgard tag information, it's Admiral Simpson, Sir."

"That cagey little so and so. What is his present location."

"He… is … right… about… There!"

With a deft manipulation of the controls, the main display focused in closer on a behemoth Battlestar, the probable flagship for this particular operation. Garvin took a moment longer to focus in on the leading section of one of the flight pods, checking out its identification.

"If the translation software is working correctly, Admiral Simpson is buried deep inside what I believe is the Pegasus, sir. Crap! The Colonials just started launching a whole mess load of fighters."

"Understood, Mr. Garvin. Please advise the Reliant and Endeavour that they are to continue with the assault on the station, but to pull back to make way for the Colonial fleet. Let them know we are still monitoring subspace communications for any further orders."

"Aye, Sir."

"Status, Mr. Fajovic!"

"On station, and all accounted for, Ma'am. The Cylon station is exactly where the information said it would be."

"Colonel Simpson, launch all Vipers and Raptors. Remind them to stay clear of our firing solution. Ready all ships for full Alpha Strike. We're only going to get one chance at this people, so let's do it quickly and do it properly! Colonel Simpson! Do you hear me?"

"Uhmmm, Ma'am? You should take a look at the monitors for a second."

What was supposed to be the blackness of space in the background flared actinic and gold with an irregular rhythm haloing around the station as if it was eclipsing the local star. Space around the Station was showing a considerable cloud of debris as if it were coming apart at the seams. With the enemy's full attention elsewhere, the incoming fleet took full advantage to mount the biggest Alpha strike they could muster. The Colonials showed no mercy as they gave the Cylons everything they had. It helped that the Raider screen had been distracted by something else. That gave the Colonials to get in a staggering first strike, inflicting a considerable amount of damage to the station while receiving a token defense in return. It was to prove to be a surprise from which the Cylons would never recover.

That opening salvo would be the only freebie the Colonials would get; defensive fire rapidly increased in retaliation. Even with fighters dancing about the capital ship's firing solutions it was practically impossible to fire and not hit something, friend or foe. The battle rapidly grew into the biggest, full blown, gods-damned furball anyone had ever seen, for the fighters and ships.

It was only natural that the improved Pegasus led the battle. Cain directed navigation to move the Battlestar to a side position for a better view and to see if it could understand what had been occupying the Cylon's attention when the Colonials had jumped in. Included in the myriad of improvements implemented during it's construction, the DRADIS had been tweaked for extended range and sensitivity. As such the entire engagement played itself out before Admiral Cain's eyes. It was those eyes that noted the three bogeys, painted yellow for unknown, that were hiding out in an isolated section of the battle zone. Tasking one of the new hi-res cameras to get images answered some questions, but then again it raised a hell of a lot more.

The images that the cameras provided showed ships of similar designs to the modern Mercury class of Battlestar situated at extreme weapons range. Beams of light seemed to be emanating from weapons points on the bow of each ship. Where the beams struck it the large Cylon station was showing increased damage; more damage than any one Colonial ship should be able to do on its own. But when did the Mercury class fire beams of light, let alone from a range that was effectively extreme, and then do so with any degree of accuracy?!

John was gripped in fear, watching as his fleet was slowly but surely whittled away to nothing. News coming in through the neural net confirmed these were not isolated attacks but a coordinated strike to ensure the Cylon's destruction. How were they able to find out?! There had been too many locations chosen, so statistically some of the fleets should be missed, or at least overlooked. No. Instead, each location had it's own assault jump in and systematically work through it like a scythe in a wheat field.

It's not to say that it was a one-way battle. It would be said that the Cylons went down fighting, dishing out as well as they took. From time to time, as the opportunity arose, missiles and kinetic rounds would get through the fighter and flak screen and inflict damage on the various Battlestars. As the battle wore on, the darkness of space would be punctuated by the blossoming death of a ship's power plant failing to hold itself together. This fuelled by the exploding Tylium and munitions made for an impressive tombstone to remember the fallen warrior.

"Admiral Cole, I'm receiving an incoming message from High Command."

"Forward it to my personal screen, Mr. Phelps."

"Aye, Sir."

The Admiral took a moment to peruse the message before muttering in disgust.

"Damn it! Mr. Garvin, please signal the Reliant and Endeavour that it's time to leave. Word has it that a world under the PPT is asking for assistance. Since we're the closest ships, it's up to us to respond to the call." With a quick look at the scanner display, Admiral Cole made a quick decision. "I want one last barrage on the station before we get under way. Set the Asgard beam weapons at full power, load fresh magazines in both the railguns and missile tubes. When I finish with our parting message, fire everything into that station and jump to hyperspace."

"Mr. Garvin, set up an open hail to ALL ships. Include the translator in the circuit if you don't mind."

"Admiral, you're on."

"Attention, Colonial Fleet. Admiral Cole speaking. We're sorry we can't stay to see this to its finish, but we have been advised of other commitments we need to attend to elsewhere. Before we go, we'd like to offer the Cylons a parting gift from the people of Earth."

To the Colonial astonishment, and the Cylon horror, a massive display of firepower erupted from the three ships. Missiles, KEW like rounds, and high energy blue beams of light rapidly made their way to the Cylon station, systematically shredding anything in their way, Basestar and Raider alike. What remained chewed great gaping craters in the station's superstructure, spraying debris and causing power fluctuations on the side facing the retreating Earth ships. Done, those self-same ships quickly departed, entering violet-blue clouds that seemed to form out of nothingness.

John could only stand in abject horror as he watched the results of what the 'Earth' ships had unleashed on the Cylon fleet and station. Amidst the heaving and shuddering, he could feel the confusion from his fellow Cylons as they questioned these people's origins. For, to their collective understanding, the Earth they knew was a dead world swathed in radiation from centuries old wars. A Basestar had made the journey there to confirm this. Nothing lived there any more and would not for centuries to come.

And yet here were these 'Earthers' who had torn them apart piece by piece with technology that was light years of anything the Cylons could have possibly conceived. It was only made worse by the Colonials taking advantage of the situation by raining murderous fire down upon the damaged areas. As the station continued to shudder from the nearby Battlestars, One was determined not to go down with a fight.

"Launch every nuke we have at the Colonials," he growled. "We need to drive them back."

There was not quite a pause in the Colonial fire when the Earthers left their 'parting gifts'. For those who could see what was taking place, were awed and very intimidated at the forces of destruction that their cousins could wield. For those who could only see the station shake and jolt, speculations on what could have caused it ran rampant through the ranks. The effects may have appeared sci-fi, but the results were clearly catastrophic for the Cylons. The Colonials were not about to look a gift equine in the mouth, especially in a battle where the tide could easily go one way or the other.

"Tell the Vipers and gun crews to keep those nukes off us!," bellowed Colonel Simpson. "I know the armor is supposed to be new and improved, but I for one do not want to see how much punishment it can take before it fails. Even numbered flak guns to target any incoming missiles, and the odd numbered flak guns are to remove those raiders. Take them out of my sky, people!"

"Helm!," called out Admiral Cain, "I want all main guns brought to bear on that station. The 'Earthships have given us an opportunity to bring this thing down. I really don't want to waste that chance. Communications, signal the fleet to maneuver into position and just give that station everything they've got. Sensor readings show that the power on that thing is fluctuating wildly. This is our opportunity to finish it for good. Get on it!"

Later, some of the surviving Viper pilots would swear that they could have walked between the station and the Battlestars on the sheer mass of missiles that were being exchanged back and forth. The destruction inflicted on both sides was simply horrific. It seemed like a ship would erupt in death every other minute. Here a Basestar, there a Battlestar. Hades's Scythe seemed to be swinging indiscriminately throughout the battlefield.

Clinging to the Plotting table, Colonel Simpson slowly clambered back to his feet. A solid three nuke strike to the ship had sent many unsecured personnel to the floor.

"Report!," called out Cain.

"A trio of nukes hit our rear dorsal armor, causing hull breaches…," he paused for a moment, "at frame points 432 to 437. Damage Control says they're onsite and dealing with it. The strike took out two of the side Quad cannons and is causing some problems with the port side point defense guns."

"Understood, Colonel. See if you can't dedicate a squadron or two to protect that area. We need to keep those guns active to finish this thing."

John had long since lost any emotion over the raging conflict. The last of the supporting Basestars had been destroyed and what Raiders remained were being slowly mopped up. The Colonial fleet was quickly concentrating all of its firepower on the remaining portion of the Cylon Colony. It was no longer a question of if they could survive, now it was a question of when would the end come.

The control room was a mixture of desperation and futility. Many were still in contact with the limited datastream, trying against hope to direct fire, protect the remaining structure, anything to keep themselves alive. Some had reduced themselves to a catatonic state; 'realizing', accepting, waiting for the end to come. All of them knowing that it would be live or die. The Colonials would accept nothing less.

John cursed the Colonials. They were the cause of it all. He cursed the Earthers. The Spectres from the grave, rising to wreak their horrors on the living world. Without their meddlesome intervention, this would have come off without a hitch. He cursed the unfairness of it all. His people should have had some vengeance for all of the sufferings they went through at the hands of the thrice damned Colonials.

In those final moments, as the last barrage of missiles struck the command center deep within the Colony's core, he cursed 4 or 5 Basestars that chose to slip out in the confusion of battle. "For their cowardice, may the run be short and their deaths be long, " he thought as the first nuke exploded in his face.

The end came unexpectedly. The lucky strike of one ship slipped past the debris, the contorted superstructure, to strike solidly into the Tylium reactor at the core of the station. Within moments the Station began to glow and bulge like overripe fruit left in the sun. Then came sporadic eruptions of energy as individual magazines began to 'cook off' the ammunition in answer to the incredible heat build-up inside. The final explosion made for the most spectacular display of the entire war. Fighters and ships unlucky to be nearby were destroyed in the conflagration as either they were cooked by the energy blast, or crushed by the flying debris.

The wireless was flooded with cries of both victory and grief. Even as the fleet continued to finish off the few remaining Raiders, communications were difficult getting through to many of the remaining ships. Calls for help were intermixed with prayers of thanksgiving. It took a threat of violent death, from Cain herself, to finally clear the airwaves for normal messages to get through.

The following hours were crammed with recovery, repair, as crew members and supplies were salvaged from doomed ships. The overall mood was one of jubilation for everyone participating, except one concerned Colonial Colonel. For Simpson, it didn't feel right.

In every operation he had participated in for the SGC, the enemy was talked to, communicated with, and if no other option was available, then neutralized. Dr. Jackson had insisted that everyone be given a chance. And in some instances in Simpson's career, grudging peaceful settlement had been made. Here, for what he had seen or heard, it had been an operation of obliteration for one side or the other. Albeit, the Cylons did pre-emptively strike the Colonial military machine, but what attempts had been made to actively try to come to some sort of peaceful settlement.

'I've got to look into this,' he thought to himself. 'The has got to be more to this than what meets the eye. Maybe a closer look at the historical records, Military and otherwise, would give us insight as to what went on before. I sure as hell don't want Earth dragged into this if the Colonies don't want to learn from their past.'

Leoben, a number two, was closely studying the long range DRADIS scans trying to determine if any other survivors would be coming to join them. Unfortunately, the scans continued to be blank and empty. The neural network informed them of the demise of the others. It was very disheartening to believe that they were the last of their kind. Born by Colonial hand, only to die by those same hands and seemingly unwanted by anyone at all.

The remaining five Basestars huddled together, orbiting inside the gas formations of a gas giant, staring out at the blackness of space hoping for a reprieve. Morale was extremely low as they rushed to complete repairs and prepare for a long journey to the outer rim territories. It was hoped they could find a system where they could try to rebuild their civilization. To go on or retaliate was for another day; now it was just enough that they could live.

With all of the warning buzzers going off, a wavering whistling sound was generally ignored until one of the Eights gave a startled shriek of surprise. Standing in the midst of them was a being that was not Colonial, but neither was it Cylon. Barely a meter in height, it stood there, arms crossed over its chest, sternly casting its gaze over the lot of them.

"He..Hello?," offered Leoben.

"Hello," it replied in a male baritone voice. "Are you the individuals that destroyed a human settlement on Barrion III?"

"What? Where?!"

"Barrion III was home to a primitive group of humans that had just reached the simple Hunter/Gatherer status in their development. They were also a world that was under our protection. This society had the potential to be something special had they survived their own development. Our analysis of the energy residues left behind confirmed that the weapons used on them came from you."

The temperature in the control room dropped as eight large truly alien ships simply appeared from nowhere to surround the few pitiful Basestars.

"How do you plead?," intoned the little gray alien.

"Oh, Crap!"

Delphi City

Caprica

In the months following the Cylon's final defeat, Simpson found he just couldn't wait to be out of the Fleet. What had originally been a concern for following the SGC mandate slowly evolved into a loathing for the situation as a whole.

Usually, the after-action reports written for any engagement were a simple process. You gave a blow-by-blow description of what happened, add in your thoughts and observations, and it was done. This time the Intelligence community was coming up short on information about the strange ships using strange weapons, and that scared the hades out of them.

As soon as it had been practical, a veritable army of investigators swarmed the fleet, acquiring recordings, gun camera footage, reports, anything they could lay their hands on. At one point it got so crazy that they were confiscating notes and even diaries in order to determine what and who had gotten themselves involved in the Colonial affairs. All options were being explored, up to and including that the fabled 'Thirteenth' tribe was returning from the grave.

At the same time, similar searches were being made by the military rank and file. The demand for holy scriptures and historical texts hit a new high as everyone right down to the lowly knuckle dragger from the Viper bays wanted to learn everything they could about 'Earth.' The usual friendly banter in the corridors was now being replaced by hushed conversations of the newest tidbit, the most outrageous rumors, that were now circulating about the gossip mill.

If Joe was scared before, now he was positively paranoid. CI had practically camped itself in his office, reading reports, studying photographs, almost breathing down his neck every time he and Susan would handle any related items. If it weren't for the fact that the artifacts were recognized their physical delicacy, CI would have already snatched them away for further study. It was one of those rare moments of intelligence when CI realized that everything should be left in the capable hands of those who would care for them the best. The historical community at large gave a great sigh of relief.

During his downtimes, when he wasn't enjoying it with Sarah, Tim dug into the Military Archives. At first, there were concerns about his initial foraging into sensitive areas. The prior wars were still somewhat raw to some veterans, rather than digging up the past they would have preferred to let it rest in peace. But with assurances that the information would be dealt with respect and sensitivity, Tim was allowed to delve in as deep as he could.

Much of what he found were the usual dry reports from officers long gone. Troop movements, engagements, victories and losses were piled one on top of another in an ever growing pile of dusty tomes. Here and there a name or paragraph would be redacted with black marker, but for the most part, the reports were no more different than the ones he had written himself. Simple, factual, and with very little emotion or humanity showing through.

Each by themselves wasn't much to look at, but as a whole, they began to show faint patterns. As Tim began to read between the lines, he came to dislike attitude and behavior that he thought he could see hiding behind. The conflict between tribes and worlds were ones based on ideas and beliefs. But where the conflicts took place between Humans and Cylons, they seemed to be ones of simple extermination. A Us or Them mentality.

At times it was hard not to let his feelings spill over into his relationship with Sarah. She could tell that something was bothering him but what it was wasn't clear. His new interest in Colonial history had originally amused her. But as time went on his attitude grew increasingly darker.

There had been times when the two of them discussed what the future might hold for them. Tim was becoming more adamant that a continued career in the Fleet was no longer for him. Oh, he readily confirmed that he was staying with her, that he was committed to this life with her, but any attraction Fleet life may have had when he was first drafted had long since waned away.

When this word had gotten out, there were many who tried to change his mind. Those in the forefront were Sarah (obviously), Cain, and the elder Adama. Cain, on many occasions, would try to appeal to him as a friend and fellow officer; that he still had untapped contributions, he could make to the fleet, his crew, and to her as his commanding officer. And as much as she would attempt to rally him into staying, she could see in his eyes, and hear in his voice, the sorrow he had for declining her gracious offers.

Sarah was simply hurt and disappointed. Having grown up in a military family, the idea of his turning his back on such a promising career went against anything she could understand. There was no question that Tim was still very much in love with her; his actions and words spoke volumes to reassure her of that. It was simply his turning away from a life that held so much promise that confused her.

It was William Adama that put the final nail in the coffin for everyone's desire for Tim's staying. Attempting to portrait his visit as one of a senior officer showing a subordinate the error of his ways, Bill could see that Tim's decision was one that was not a spur of the moment thing, it had been thought out over time with careful consideration. Something was gnawing away at Tim and, in some way or another, the military had something to do with it. What that was, Bill could only wonder.

When the time came to muster out, Tim was ready to call it quits. He had put in his time, paid his dues, and now he wanted to get back to the life he chose.

Together, Tim and Sarah found a home in a little community just outside of Delphi, within easy commuting distance from the Fleet base. From there Tim could easily drive Sarah in when her duty cycle required it, and at the same time gave him easy access to the Museum at which Joe worked. Under the guise of writing a historical text about the recent war, Tim continued his research into the underlying reasons for the Human/Cylon conflict.

And what he discovered simply sickened him. Both sides had dong wrong from what he had learned.

Taking some time to relax Joe had dropped by to take in the televised Pyramid match it was one of the biggest game this season. Sarah had taken some leave and had left to get some things for the evening meal, leaving the two men a chance to discuss things. Tim was in the process of commenting on some of the details he had been able to find, when the image on the screen began to jump about, finally settling on an almost familiar scene.

An unfamiliar woman stood behind a podium with a mix of military and civilians standing behind her. The familiar 'Earth' glyph graced the front of the podium, while an altered UN flag was displayed on the wall behind. As the woman began to speak in an 'unfamiliar' language, another voice was laid on top of hers, speaking in Caprican standard.

"What the hell," sputtered Harris. "Taking the subtle approach, aren't they?"

"I apologize for this short interruption," the woman began, " but due to our involvement in your past war, I felt it was time that introductions were in order. My name is Rose Tyler, Prime Minister representing the Unified Government of Earth. I would like to pass on my sympathy for the losses you suffered in this past war. We, as a world, did give you help when and where we could. Details of our times of assistance were provided, along with vital information that helped you in finishing this war. If at all possible, I would like to have our two peoples meet. In about two of your months, a single ship will approach your Colonies. It will have an ambassadorial party on board in the hopes of beginning a dialogue between our two governments. Until then.."

After a couple of stunned moments, both Simpson and Harris recognized that General O'Neill was one of the individuals backing the Prime Minister. While assuming he was in one of his frigidity moods, both of them realized the movements were standard SGC sign language.

"Tim, I know I've gotten a little rusty at this, but is he saying what I think he's saying?"

"I think so," replied Tim. "The taxi is to be here in three days. Be ready at the taxi stand."

"Time for that 'camping trip'?", grinned Harris.

"Got it in one."

Sarah burst through the door, packages and bags in tow.

"Tim! Did you see..."

"Oh yes, I did. It spoiled a good Bulls vs. Stallions Pyramid match. The game was even getting good for a change."

"You idiot!" Sarah growled, with a smirk.

"Yes, dear. I agree, dear," chuckled Tim in return. "A bit of a 'game changer' don't you think?"

"A bit?! This is monumental! This is…," she paused to answer the ringing phone.

"Hello? Yes? Wha.. Are you sure? But I've… Alright. 0800 tomorrow? Okay. Goodbye."

"The base?" questioned Tim.

"Yes," replied Sarah. "That was my recall notice. It sounds like they are pulling all available personnel back in and ordering the fleet on basic alert to keep an eye on every world. It looks like the president wants to make sure we put on our best face for the envoys from Earth."

She eyed Tim expectantly.

"Hey!" sputtered Tim. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice."

The look quickly became a glare.

"But I'm out! A simple call isn't going to get me back in. Besides, I figure now would be as good a time as any for that camping trip that I've been threatening to do."

"Welllll, Yeah. But Admiral Cain…," Sarah began.

"I know," admitted Simpson. "She's been trying every angle she can just to get me back in. She's a wonderful officer to serve under, but even with this situation," he grinned, "she's going to have to petition every senior officer she can to speed up the process. I just plan on being a little more out of reach than she expects."

"Oooh, you evil, evil man," Sarah cackled. "You realize that she will get even with you for this. Right?"

"Don't I know it," Tim commented as he shook his head ruefully. "But while I have the chance, I want to do things on my terms. She'll just have to live with that."

"And that is my cue to say goodnight," offered Joe. "See you tomorrow, Tim?"

"Definitely. Say 5:30?"

"Gods! Why so early?" sputtered Sarah.

"Partially for a head start, and also to give us a chance to find that sweet spot I'd told you about. That one on the western face of the Delphi Mountain range?"

"The one in the Pan reserve?"

"That's the one," joked Harris. "The spot where Man can commune with nature. 'Til tomorrow, Tim?"

"I'll see you then, Joe."

As the door closed, Sarah turned on Tim with a plaintive pout on her face.

"Do you really have to go?"

"Yes, I do," Tim replied, kissing Sarah on the forehead. "I promise to make it up to you. How about I start by taking you out to dinner tonight, eh?"

As enjoyable as the evening was, the next morning came way too early for Sarah's liking. Tim had already packed his things and began toying with her kit bag as she came out of the bathroom.

"What are you doing? I had that packed already!"

"Habit, I guess. I was always checking junior officers packs to make sure that they had everything they'd need." responded Tim, as he carefully re-closed the kit bag. "It wouldn't impress the others if you were to forget your knitting," he smirked.

"I'll 'knitting' you, mister," she groused, slapping his chest.

Slipping into his embrace, the two spent a last minute moment together.

"Are you sure you don't want to drive me to the base?"

Tim grinned.

"Something tells me that Admiral Cain will have something up her sleeve. Just this once, I'll pass."

Looking up at the clock, Tim whispered, "It's getting late. You should be on your way. Remember, I'll be waiting for you when you get back."

Entry to the Delphi Spaceport should have been easy for Sarah, but she knew something was up when she saw two familiar faces waiting for her at the gate. Admiral Adama was a welcome site; dad's always are. It was Admiral Cain that put a knowing smirk on Sarah's face. Cain's presence and the puzzled look on her face as she seemed to scan the incoming fleet members. Tim had to have expected this. Why else would he have insisted on leaving early today.

"Captain Simpson. Good to see you this fine morning."

"Good morning, Admiral Cain, Adama. Is everything okay?"

"Just a little concerned, Captain. Didn't your husband come along to see you off?" queried Cain.

"Why, Admiral," responded Sarah. "Is that a hint of concern I hear in your voice, Ma'am? I can assure you that everything is just fine."

Admiral Adama had a slight grin, as he watched the interplay between the two women.

"Captain," chided the elder Adama, "just answer the Admiral's question."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Sarah responded a contritely. "For some reason, Tim chose to leave early this morning for a camping trip with his friend. May I inquire why your concern?"

"Something had come up that I needed to discuss with him. Did he happen to say where he was going?"

Sarah glanced at her watch.

"If he kept to his schedule, he should be almost to Pan's Wilderness Retreat. You know the one situated deep in the Delphi Mountain Range."

"Damn it!" cursed Cain. "Sometimes that man is too canny for his own good."

"Can I assume that you have his recall paperwork on hand?" grinned Sarah, as Admiral Cain pulled the envelope out from behind her. "He never said it, but it was implied you might try something like this. He figured you might have wanted to maneuver him into a position where he wouldn't have a chance to refuse. The campsite he's chosen is so remote that even mobile communications won't be able to reach him. I'm sorry, Ma'am, but it seems like he planned this out very well."

"Yes, Captain, I agree. But at the same time, he knows I'm the type of person who won't give up that easily." Turning in place, Cain called out to the nearby Military Police (MP) Non-Com. "Sergeant!"

"Yes, Ma'am?" came the reply.

"It seems we have a wandering lamb that needs to be brought back into the fold. With the location that the Captain is about to provide to you," Cain glared at Sarah, " please take an able associate and retrieve our errant Colonel. But remember to be courteous, he still has the right to attempt to refuse these orders in person."

"Understood, Ma'am, " chuckled the MP.

Because of the early start, they made that morning, Simpson and Harris made good time getting away from Delphi. Their basic packs had been filled within hours of the message from Earth, but the hardest thing was choosing the small things that could only be taken at the last minute. Things like pictures, knickknacks, mementos of times, events, and people they had grown to care for. It was hard figuring out what to take and what to leave behind.

Pan's Wilderness Retreat spanned a grand 4000 square kilometers of unspoiled wilderness. With the exception of parking lots for camper's vehicles, the rest of the park was generally undeveloped with paths leading almost anywhere. There was also a rule that no aircraft could fly and land in the Retreat area. So it made anyone looking for Simpson job harder. It was designed to give a chance to the more adventurous to rough it as their ancestors did long ago. It was in the midst of this splendor that the two men retraced their steps to their original campsite. To maintain appearances to any unexpected visitors, the tent was pitched and everything arranged as for an extended stay.

As evening drew close, Simpson set and lit a modest little fire. As he opened a bottle of water for a well-deserved drink, Harris voiced a thought that had been in the back of both minds.

"Do you have any idea how long we're going to be here?"

"No idea, Joe. I just hope we get some warning beforehand."

Nightfall finally fell over the mountains as Harris and Simpson began small talk over the fire. The two of them quietly pondered the changes had taken place since the last time they had all been here. Back then, they had been a team on a simple seek and report mission; find out all they could but to have as little influence on the population as possible. Yeah, with their luck? Like that could ever happen. Instead, an even greater adventure took place, one with a heartbreaking loss as well as soul-warming personal gain.

Both men offered a moment of reflective silence, honoring the fact that neither Sean nor Jenn were never getting the opportunity to go home. Thoughts and prayers were offered in the hopes that wherever they had gone, things were infinitely better that what they'd ended up with here.

The quiet and solitude was broken with a flash of light and a very familiar chime of music. Looking up, they could see the recognizable form of an Asgard, but not the one they were expecting.

"So, not Thor?," quipped a grinning Simpson.

"No. I am Freya of the Asgard. Supreme Commander Thor could not be here but sends his regards."

With a tilt of her head, Freya glanced at their meager belongings. "Are you ready to leave?

"Wait a couple of minutes while we tidy up around here."

The fire was quickly and thoroughly extinguished, the trash collected and packaged. With an experienced eye, Simpson carefully checked the site to make sure the site was left neat and tidy.

"Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints," he muttered to himself.

"Quoting the SGC mantra, Tim?" Joe chided.

"Yeah, but this time I feel as if I'm leaving something very important behind. Something I swore I'd never do."

"I know what you mean. Susan was over the hill to have met a celebrity. Who knows what she'll be like now she is that celebrity."

Joe went silent for a moment.

"What are we going to do, Tim?" he asked plaintively. "I've spent so much time here creating a life, and now I'm supposed to go 'home.' How can anyone expect us to just do that?"

"I don't know, Joe," Simpson replied. "I'm still trying to work that out. I'm torn having to leave Sarah like this. If and when I make it back, will she want anything to do with me? Right now, she's the only family I've got left."

With one last glance at the campsite, the two men picked up their packs and turned to Freya.

"Alright, ready when you are."

With a mellifluous chime and a flash of light, the campsite returned to its natural quiet solitude, subject only to the chattering and scurrying of the native denizens.


	9. Chapter 9

I do not own Stargate, or Battlestar wish I did could use the money.

AN: Here is chapter nine sorry it took so long.

 **SG-13 The Cylon War**

 **Chapter 9**

THUD!

Sarah's head snapped up, sleep befuddled eyes trying to take things in. The last she remembered was answering an urgent summons to Picon Fleet Headquarters after finishing a double duty shift on the Galactica. The transport hadn't allowed her much sleep either, leaving her in a state of great fatigue. Reporting to Picon HQ, Sarah had been escorted to this small room, by a pair of men in black suits, to wait patiently. Sleep had come shortly after.

The first thing she noticed was the mound of paperwork as it finished bouncing off the top of the simple utilitarian table her head had been resting on. The table and two straight back chairs, one facing the other, were the only furnishings in the middle of a small plain unfinished room. A single strong light in the ceiling illuminated the center area allowing the rest of the room to remain bathed in shadows.

The other inhabitant of the room was a thin, waspish woman with hair back into a tightly bound bun. The tight skin, sharp eyes, sharp, decisive movements gave her the air of a predatory bird seeing everything while missing very little. In silence, she arranged documents and papers into precise arrangements while Sarah followed her movements with concern and trepidation.

After several minutes of indifferent silence, Sarah's patience had been worn decidedly thin.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

The woman gave no indication that she had heard anything.

"Why am I here? What do you want with me?!"

Still no response.

"Alright! If this is the treatment, I'm going to get. Then I'm out of here!"

"SIT DOWN!"

Sarah turned to stare directly into the woman's eyes.

"Excuse me?!"

"I said, 'Sit Down.'"

"I don't think so. Not until you start answering some of my gods-damned questions!"

"The only person asking questions here will be me," the stern woman growled.

"Like Hades you are. I came here for a debriefing, not an interrogation by some trumped up little harpy like yourself!"

Sarah was under an ugly storm cloud as she was rounding the end of the table. Her purposeful stride was only broken as the stranger uttered a parting shot.

"And how long did you think you'd get away with it before we'd catch on?"

Sarah came to a stumbling halt as she turned to face her adversary.

"Wha.., what the Hell are you talking about?!"

The stranger toyed with a pen in hand, tapping a sheet of paper to punctuate each phrase that she spoke. "Aiding and Abetting. Collusion. Espionage. Giving aid and comfort."

Sarah stared incredulously at the woman.

"Now I KNOW you're delusional. I served honourably during the war defending the Colonies. At no time did I ever compromise my loyalties against the Cylons. EVER!"

"When did I ever talk about the Cylons," the stranger firmly responded. "They weren't the only ones involved."

"The thirteenth tribe?" Sarah questioned, disbelief written all over her face. "I've never had any contact with them. Nobody has. Rumors have it that they will contact us when they are good and ready. Forget this and forget you! I've got to get a hold of someone to arrange transport out of here. Tim should be back from his camping trip. Maybe he'll know of a way."

"Don't even try it. Your husband's not home."

"Yes, he is!" growled Sarah menacingly. "It's been over a week since I've returned to duty. Tim was supposed to come home two days after I left. That is, of course, if Admiral Cain's MP's didn't get him first."

"Oh, we found the campsite, alright. The problem is that neither Simpson nor Harris were anywhere to be found," the stranger growled right back. "There were boot prints confirming that both men had been there, the fire place still had warmth indicating the site hadn't been vacant for too long," she continued sternly. "But the only problem is that there were no boot prints leaving the site. I don't know how they did it, honey," she dripped sarcastically, "don't expect him back anytime soon. He's gone and left you holding the bag!"

Sarah quietly staggered to a corner of the room, trying but with very little success to keep it together. Sitting down, she had her back to the wall while tightly hugging her knees in front of her. Rocking back and forth, she tried to make sense of what she had heard.

'No, no, no, no, no, no! This isn't the Tim I know,' she thought to herself. 'Tim wouldn't do this to me. It isn't possible that Tim would abandon me like this. He couldn't do this. He's always been faithful, caring, and supportive! TIM! WHERE THE FRAK ARE YOU?!'

Looking on at Captain Simpson as she rocked in place, the interrogator gloated as she cackled quietly, "I've got you now, Princess."

The silence dragged on as Sarah keened in her new found misery, disappointment, and possible betrayal. For the longest time, the only sounds to intrude on her despair were the shuffling of papers, and the scratching of a pen taking notes, as Sarah tried to make sense of everything she had just learned.

In the background, she could hear the door open, and make out the hushed whispers of a tense argument. She started when a hand gently touched her on the shoulder. Looking up, she gazed tearfully into the eyes of the Admiral Nagala.

"Sir?"

"Up you get, Captain. This has gone on long enough."

"Admiral, I must protest. The subject was just about to break and give us the information we needed!"

"Agent Krystos, I agree that you were about to break Captain Simpson. But the breaking you were about to do would have served neither me nor the Colonies as a whole!"

"But Admiral, .."

"But nothing, Agent Krystos! I have spent a lifetime learning to read people, their intents, and their agendas. The people you are interrogating know nothing more than what they have stated. To push some of them any further would reduce them to the point that they would be unable to function properly in Colonial society. I know what I need to know! These interrogations are ended!"

"Understood, Sir," grumbled a subdued CI agent.

Turning back to the befuddled Captain, Nagala gently directed her to the door.

Sarah stumbled, attempting to resist the man's gentle tugging.

"Admiral? Sir? What is going on?"

"Please come with me, Captain, or if you will, Sarah. I realize that explanations are in order. I just ask that you be patient with me and most of your questions will be answered shortly."

Complying with Nagala, Sarah was soon ushered into a well-appointed conference room. Comfortable swivel chairs surrounded a longish oval table, softly illuminated at several points along its length. At one end a brace of flat displays graced the wall, images of the various questioning rooms still showing clearly.

"Sarah!"

"Da.. Admiral Adama, Sir!" Sarah cried out as she fell into his protective hug.

"Forget the rank, Sarah. Are you alright?"

"I don't know, Dad. It's been like a nightmare pulled from some deep dark point of paranoia. They've even gone so far as to say that Tim has something to do with it!"

"That is something we'd like to hear for ourselves," intoned another nearby voice.

Pulling back from the embrace, Sarah turned quickly to the familiar voice.

"Oh! Sorry, Ma'am. Sirs. No disrespect meant."

"None was taken, child," responded Admiral Cain. "Something tells me that we're about to be told a tale that will seem incredible but is true. Am I correct, Mr. President?"

"Oh, I can guarantee it, Admiral Cain."

Noticing the woman's piercing stare and raised eyebrow, Adar chuckled out loud. "Perhaps we should all be seated? It should make the shock a little easier to bear."

The three officers sat on one side of the table and eyeing the CI agent warily as she sat down with Admirals Nagala and Corman. The President remained standing, hands clutched together at his back as if in 'lecture' mode.

"The first thing I need to do is to apologize for the treatment you and the others have just gone through." A quick hand was raised in an attempt to forestall any questions, as he continued. "You three, along with Commander Belzen, Colonel Shaw, Ms. Karahalios, and a couple of MP's have unfortunately been put through the wringer. All at my request, actually. Unfortunately, due to embarrassments suffered by Colonial Intelligence, their enthusiasm was a bit more than what I had anticipated."

"A BIT MORE?" growled Sarah.

"And what happened to that confidence you showed in us at that conference about a year ago?" piped up Cain.

"Well, yes, I am sorry about this," muttered Corman, "but as strange as it sounds, we needed to be absolutely sure. I will be personally speaking to the others to confirm that I have the utmost confidence in their loyalty. "

"But that isn't the full story, right?," the elder Adama sagely noted.

"Not even close," Nagala intoned.

Walking to a nearby wall, the President began to open an oversized briefcase and removed a wrapped package from within.

"About 12 days ago, I entered my office to begin another day's business. Although I've been able to confirm with security that all doors were locked and sealed, I found this sitting neatly in the center of my desk."

Approaching the table, Adar removed the wrappings as he placed an object on the table. The box was roughly the same size as a standard attaché case, constructed of an unfamiliar wood with the stained and varnished finish of a true craftsman. Inlaid in the top was a metallic symbol very familiar to most people present.

"No one was near or in the office all evening. The only anomaly was a brief flash of light caught on security cameras when this box appeared. Security checked it out thoroughly. There were no explosives, no chemical toxins, nothing. The only unusual detail was a very unique radiation signature from the symbol on the lid, but my experts assure me that it is not harmful in any way."

"Were there any notes or messages with it?," inquired Admiral Cain.

"Before I answer that question, I need to confirm something with all of you. For the time being, nothing that you see or hear today is to leave this room. Do I make myself crystal clear?"

With everyone's assurance, Nagala faced Sarah.

"Captain Simpson, towards the end of the war, the Battlestar Valkyrie was tasked with assaulting and recovering the world Djerba. When the task force jumped in, all it found were destroyed remains and a message buoy containing a series of documents describing the entire list of human form Cylons that were infiltrating the 12 Colonies. To be frank, it scared me how close we had come to being invaded from the inside and not even knowing it."

"What we found in this box was equally scary. In total, there was a letter, a series of biographies, and a series of specs and blueprints. Baltar and the R&D boys have had kittens just drooling over what could prove to be substantial improvements to our present technology as we know it. There was nothing world shattering in there, but they think that these would have been normal improvements we could have come up with over the next 20 years had the war not gotten in the way."

"And their only giving this to us now?!," grumbled Cain.

"In retrospect, I have to agree with their decision," Adar admitted grudgingly, the others looking on questioningly. "We were in the middle of a war," he shrugged, "and fighting for our very existence. I figure that had this been dropped in our laps at that point in time, we would have dropped everything to develop the technology to the exclusion of all else. We would have had new unfamiliar weapons on hand and we would have lost trying to figure out how to best use them. As it was we were able to make the most of what we had to defeat the Cylons soundly." After a pause he continued. "With some help, of course."

"And the rest…?," prompted Admiral Adama.

"Ah, yes," stumbled the President. "There is a letter is from my erstwhile counterpart on Earth. In it is a combination of apology, explanation, and peace offering. The peace offering were the technological improvements. It was hoped those improvements would ensure that we wouldn't be as pissed with them for the spying."

"Supposedly, a team of four individuals were inserted into Colonial Society to try to get a better view of our culture, ideals and how the common Colonial lived. The areas they were to investigate were to be civilian. Exclusively."

A quiet snort of derision could be heard from Agent Krystos.

"Obviously things changed when war broke out with the Cylons and everyone's safety was in jeopardy. Two of those individuals were lost when the Cylons attacked Caprica City. The other two remained to do their part to continue their mission and to support us in the war effort."

"That's all fine and dandy," admitted Sarah. "But how does this affect me or the others? Can I have my kit bag back so I can start searching for my husband. That is, if what your trained attack dog says is true.."

"Oh, it's true, all right. The little coward ran with.."

"Nicola! That. Will. Be. Enough! Do I need to find money in the budget to teach you tact and diplomacy now?," Adar threatened. With a wearied sigh, he attempted to get the meeting back on track.

"Mr. President, with all due respect, I don't believe you are seeing the bigger picture here."

"And," he responded with a wary eye, "that would be, Agent Krystos?"

"We have just been infiltrated by spies from another government, society, world, what have you. From the reports I've been able to obtain, they've been here for several years, eating our food, drinking our ambrosia, breathing our air, and we knew nothing about it. But the worst part is how easily they did it!"

"I've taken the time to go through some of the profiles for these 'people', and I'm astounded at the level of detail that was used. The notes claim they had just found out about us, but what I'm seeing here would have taken years in the planning."

"For example, do any of you remember a little independent mining town out in the backwater hills of Scorpios a few decades back? The one where the shafts collapsed due to unexpected tremors in the ground? Because only a few people were killed, the story was relegated to a small blurb two-thirds of the way back in the papers. Hardly anyone took notice, and fewer had any idea that the event even took place. One of our visitors actually used that as part of their cover story! This wasn't a hack job. It was thoughtfully crafted and methodically planned out."

Krystos paused for a moment, clasping her hands in frustration.

"If it wasn't for the deception and subterfuge, I'd be sitting here in awe and admiration for how well these profiles were put together. They are really pieces of art if you think about it. DAMN IT!" she yelled, slamming her fist onto the table in utter confusion.

After a respectful pause, Adar continued.

"As you can tell, this has not been the easiest on any of the intelligence community. They've all taken it as a personal insult to their professionalism and integrity."

Nicola was already sifting, reluctantly, through the pile of paperwork she had with her from the interrogation room. Reaching a mid-point in the pile, she began checking page by page. She hesitated a couple of times before sliding folded sheet across the table. There was a pause before an accompanying envelope joined the sheet.

"I suppose you would eventually be asking for this," she sighed.

Adar took a moment to scan the page in his hands, his eyes widening as he understood its contents. Taking slow, deliberate steps, he refolded the page and neatly tucked it into the envelope. Gathering his thoughts, he continued with the debriefing.

"I do realize this is totally against the grain of your instincts, Agent Krystos," offered President Adar, "but thank you for your cooperation. I'm hoping that we're not dealing with a cut and dried espionage. I just ask that you bear with me as I chose the route I think best."

"Yes, Mr. President," she responded. "In any scenario, I hope you realize that the security of the 12 Colonies is MY main priority. I just hope what we're doing here today doesn't come back to bite us in the backside."

Turning back to the others at the table, Adar continued.

"Reluctantly, what Agent Krystos has been saying so boldly is true. But, before I go any further, there is something I think you need to see," he offered sombrely, as the biographies were placed out on the table.

Sarah attempted to stifle a quiet whimper as recognition dawned on her face.

"Oh, my Gods! That's Sean and Jennifer, … Joe?! What's Joe doing here? Tim! No, it can't be. That can't be Tim. Oh Gods, NO!" Sarah cried as she sat back in her chair, hands covering her face. "Let me wake up and find that this is just a nightmare. Oh please, oh please, oh please!"

Admiral Adama, with numb fingers, slowly picked up one of the biographies. Staring back from the page was a face with which he had become very familiar. It was Tim, but not as he had come to know him. The image was clearly from earlier days, when cares, worries and the drain of war hadn't yet added lines to the once youthful face. Here was the 'devil-may-care' smile of someone who lived life to the fullest, one day at a time.

Looking further down he noticed the page had been divided into two: one side with Caprican script, and the other in a language he couldn't quite recognize. Reading what he could, Adama slowly came to realize how much he knew of Tim was but the tip of the iceberg. What was also amazing was how well he and his team had been able to immerse themselves into Colonial society and still keep below the intelligence radar. But as with everything else, the questions answered only seemed to leave more questions unanswered.

"The four of them," summarized Adama, "comprised a team that was called SG-13, working for an organization called the SGC. Their mandate was to protect the planet from extraterrestrial threats. And very recently they were pushed to their limits. Prior to being assigned here, something called a," he paused for a moment, "'Goold' launched a massive attack on Earth killing inhabitants, both military and civilian, in the hundreds of millions."

"Hundreds…," paused Helena. "What the HELL were these 'Goold' doing? Carpet bombing the planet?!"

"Damn near, Admiral. Damn near," admitted Nagala. "But it wasn't any bombing I'd recognize. Let me play the video disc that was included. There are two segments included here. The first is more like a infomercial/propaganda piece they wanted to use to educate people on the purpose this 'SGC' serves. The second is almost a gun camera/newsreel footage of the battle that was previously mentioned."

As the display at the end of the table lit up, each of the officers could see what Nagala had meant. While the presentation was fast paced, it was well crafted as to put the best face forward for whatever audience happened to view it. What no one missed was the heavy overdubbing of a second voice speaking in an almost stilted Caprican Standard with Kobolian accents, almost identical to the voice used in the Djerba message buoy.

It was the second segment that caught their attention. Presented like an old time newsreel/release, images and clips cut between various points and locations. War rooms flickered to ready rooms, to fighter maintenance bays, and a myriad of other locations in between.

While Pyramid shaped ships seemed to fill the sky, bat-like fighters with forward swept wings exchanged weapons fire with crescent shaped fighters that looked eerily like Cylon Raiders. On the ground, troops battled with strangely armoured humanoids, as in the background a pretty shower of golden lights 'rained' death and destruction all around them. Buildings and structures were quickly reduced to rubble. Interspersed between the scenes of major battles were many shots of the individuals grabbing rest, loading weapons, eating on the run, checking equipment; just like what many of the officers had personally experienced during the conflict with the Cylons. But every now and then a familiar face, Joe in the field or Tim in a cockpit, would peek through to assure them that this was not some campy sci-fi movie but was in fact a part of real life.

The president intruded in the group's enraptured viewing.

"As in many battles, a person's skills are honed to a razor's edge. Tim seemed to be no exception. According to the documents he, like a select few that were fortunate to have survived, very quickly became an ace with possibilities of being multiple ace, had any of his wing mates lived to confirm it. In fact, because of this major battle, each of member of SG-13 had become very adept in their own specialties."

"However, these gains were not without loss. Of the four of them, Joe Harris seems to be the only one to have had any family members that survived. While his parents died years earlier, Tim lost his only sister when her town was wiped out by an orbital bombardment early in the assault."

"Oh, gods" Sarah murmured to herself as her fingers stroked Tim's picture.

"Captain Simpson?" interrupted Corman. "Something you'd like to share with the rest of us?"

"Well, Sir," Sarah began thoughtfully, "he always seemed to have a sadness about him. Even during the happiest times, it almost seemed to be a cloud that hung over him that he could never shake off. He never went into any details about his family, but now I can understand why. He would only say that he had no one left. He did mention his sister once in passing, saying something that sounded rather weird but I just wrote it off to fatigue, silliness, what have you."

"If he was good enough to become an ace in their military," pondered Cain, "then why in Hades name was he sent to the Colonies? It would be a serious waste of talent to send someone like him on a simple job like this."

Admiral Adama responded thoughtfully.

"From what I can understand, the battle on Earth must have been horrific; the losses they suffered, considerable. It could be that when it came to deciding who they would send on this mission, Simpson, and his team may have been the only ones available. It's interesting to note that their skill set just so happened to cover aviation, technology, and the health sciences."

"Just enough to know where to hit us where it hurts most," growled Krystos. She quickly quietened down under the President's stare.

"What were they supposed to be doing here in the first place?" questioned Sarah.

Supposedly," said Nagala, pausing only to check her notes, "their objective was to become a part of Colonial society for a short period of time to get to know us, our ways and our culture." He paused for a moment to glare at Krystos as she sniggered. "Their mandate was to study civilian life only. The military and CI were to be left alone. It seems that even the Earthers had a grudging respect for both agencies. The main hope was to find a way of initiating a peaceful first contact between both societies."

"But this obviously didn't seem to work out for them."

"No it didn't," chuckled Adar. "Maybe regardless of what this team did, the fates themselves chose to have them cross paths with the Adamas. And through them, the military."

"Mur-fee," muttered Helena.

"What did you say?," questioned Krystos, with a start.

"Just something Simpson commented about when we got our backsides handed to us after destroying the Cylon Mystery station," commented Cain. "Something about having run into so many unexplained problems back home, he invented a daemon named 'Mur-fee' to blame it on. It helped to remind him that for any plan he might work out, he had to allow for any surprises this daemon might do to screw things up."

"So, he was good at planning out operations?," questioned Krystos.

"Very good. Hades, he even anticipated my attempts at recalling him back into the fleet. And I had only just obtained the orders from Admiral Nagala that morning," she noted with an embarrassed grin. "There was no way he could have been tipped off."

"And if you had to go up against him in battle…," inquired Corman.

"It's not something I would care to think about," Cain replied quietly. "Though quiet and somewhat solitary, Tim exhibited a ferocity to defend his own. As CAG on the original Pegasus, he would work with his squadrons to ensure that each pilot had the greatest chance of surviving. Surprisingly most were able to survive while dishing out considerable damage to the enemy."

She paused to think before continuing.

"If Tim was given a chance to work a comparable ship up to the standards, he exhibited here, and with what he knows about our newest classes of ships, he would be a considerable danger to anyone that would cross paths with him. Whatever he learned in that battle over Earth was honed even further in his dealings with the Cylons. Regardless of any misgivings and self-recriminations, he might have about himself in private, and Simpson would keep his cool in the heat of the action knowing his crew would need that image to keep them going. If anything, he'd make the most of the situation he'd find himself in."

"And so," commented Agent Krystos, "it seems like we have created our own worst enemy."

"I'm not so sure," said Adar, tapping the edge of the envelope against his lips. "Of anything anyone has said about Simpson, his loyalty to his teammates and friends always seemed to be paramount. One does not get through a war without trusting or being trusted. So which way his loyalties ultimately lie may be the biggest question on everyone's mind."

Captain Simpson," prodded Corman, "you've seen the Colonel in more relaxed and intimate situations. During those times, did you notice anything different or strange about him?"

Sarah shook her head, thinking back on her time with Tim. "For the most part, Colonel Simpson was like anyone else in the 12 Colonies. Yes, he had his moments where you could see his mind was somewhere else, but who isn't from time to time? I admit he seemed to guard his private affairs a little more than what I would have liked, but he was all there when he spent time with me. Even when I prodded him into marrying me, he seemed to want to take the time to make sure I knew what I was getting into. But when I put my foot down about it, I knew he was committed all the way. I now see that it was just his quiet way of letting me know how complicated things might get."

"Come to think of it," interjected Cain, "at one point I was concerned for his mental state. The time my fleet had been deployed to to take down the Cylon's communications array, Simpson instinctively took up the role of CAG without anyone asking him. Almost as if he hated the idea of losing anyone. Later when I officially assigned him the rank and position, he had a look on his face as if he'd done something wrong, as if he was going to be punished for it. I know we're supposed to be upset with the whole thing, but if this team was supposed to avoid the military, I could easily see how he might be worried about the consequences back on Earth."

"So, Admiral Cain," snarked Agent Krystos, "with those concerns in mind, what ever possessed you to promote Simpson as fast as you did?"

Cain paused thoughtfully before offering her reply.

"In the opening moments of the assault on the Cylon communications array," she began, "many of the senior pilots were lost to a well-placed nuke. The resulting panic almost became a route for the Cylons. If it wasn't for Simpson to bring things back under control and rally the other pilots, the losses could have been considerably higher. After that, it was only natural that he would be promoted."

"From there his arsenal of abilities just seemed to blossom. He cared so much about his men that it almost seemed like they would be willing to go to Hades and back just for him. To me, I believed him to be a very capable officer, and eventually a trusted friend. When Belzen was given his own command, I chose Simpson to be my XO because I believed I could trust him to watch my back."

"You have to remember, Krystos," interrupted Nagala, "officers like Simpson are unique. Most are fast tracked based on who they know. Politics, pure and simple. But those like Simpson are fast tracked on what they can do. Simpson was dropped into the deep end, with much expected from him. And he delivered on those expectations. I know of many commanders who would have given their eyeteeth to have nabbed him in the first place."

"And for the record, Admiral Cain, I have a letter of protest from one Commander Nash, for your 'poaching' back of his XO. In jest, of course."

Cain chuckled for a moment.

Nagala turned his head, fixing his stare on Adama.

"Anything you would like to add, Bill?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. He and his team always seemed rather guarded when they were around us. I can only assume that they were constantly afraid of being caught."

"And your thoughts on the night he took on Lt. Thrace in the VR trainer?"

"I don't recall many of the details. I know that Starbuck didn't go into the fight expecting much of a challenge. As the fight continued, she became more and more frustrated. None of the textbook maneuvers seemed to get the results she had expected in the past. It was at that point that the gloves came off and she was going for blood."

"For Simpson's part, his technique was rather basic, even for a raw nugget. The only thing that was in his favor was how he used his surroundings to his advantage. His idea of hiding on the inside of the flight pod was unorthodox, but it succeeded in catching Starbuck off guard."

Nagala frowned, checking details on a paper in front of him, while Adar sat back, watching the flow of the discussion.

"But if he is supposed to be a multiple Ace pilot, shouldn't he have done much better?"

"Maybe it was all for show," offered Cain. "Remember that there were numerous attempts to recruit him into the fleet."

Adar was startled when the normally quiet Sarah added her input.

"What if the battle didn't take place in space?"

"What are you talking about?," questioned Nagala.

"The video we saw showed space vessels, but most of the combat took place mainly in the atmosphere? What if they haven't had any real space combat at this point? I remember Tim commenting that he flew through basic and atmospheric combat training. Although he was able to pick it up fairly quickly, it took him much longer to master space combat training. It tells me that Earth hasn't been in space all that long, or at least he wasn't."

"But we know he was involved in the 'Goold's' assault on Earth," commented Cain. "Is it possible that he was part of the atmospheric forces while others took the battle to space?"

"That would only make sense if Earth had more than one type of fighter. We, ourselves, use Vipers for Air/Space superiority while the Raptors work at Electronic Warfare and ground support. It's just too expensive to design and build a multi-purpose craft to take on all those roles at once."

"But what if the Earth's fleet was either small or non-existent before this battle?" suggested Cain.

"What? Are you insane?," questioned Nagala. "Technology like this takes time to develop. It doesn't just appear overnight."

"Yes. But if that were the case, wouldn't they be more adept at space combat?"

"Yes, they should be," admitted Adama, "but something about it just doesn't make any sense. From the very beginning, there were fleeting images of something there, but nothing substantial. Towards the end of the war, we began seeing small groups of their ships, maybe six at the most. Each ship might be as large as a transport, just over 200m. But for a space faring race to build a fleet almost as if it's going along is as confusing as Hades. The only big ships were ever saw were the three that attack the Cylons before Admiral Cain group started their attack. The only time we ever saw their ships was during the final battles of the war."

"No doubt this will be something that will need clarifying when the Earth delegation arrives," commented the President. "But in a worse case scenario, is there a chance we could defeat their ships in battle?"

"To be honest with you, sir," replied Nagala, "it's possible, but at too great of a cost. From the footage that Admiral Cain obtained, instead of KEW weaponry, the Earthers were firing beams of light with devastating effect. I took this up with Dr. Baltar and the other eggheads in the R&D labs and almost had to pry them away from the monitors. They immediately discounted lasers. Their best guess was plasma based weaponry which, at the moment, we cannot develop nor defend against. Based on what happened to the Cylons, we wouldn't last much longer than them. Maybe we could take out one of the smaller ships by ramming it, but at the cost of three Pegasus class Battlestars. It wouldn't really be worth it in the long run."

"So, is that it?," spat Krystos. "Are we to just sit back as the Earthers come here to set their demands while Simpson, in one of their super powered warships, forces us to capitulate?"

"I don't think that would ever happen," Sarah quietly commented. "As much as he is a protector of Earth, I believe he is also a protector of the Colonies. He's wept, sweated and bled for the losses on both sides. And in the end, he suffers the nightmares of what he sees as his shortcomings. He's woken me up late at night 'pleading' his sister, and fellow pilots for failing to keep them safe. The pain I've heard in that voice has nearly brought me to tears. By gods, I'm going to slap him silly for lying to me, but I know he would not battle the Colonies unless there was nothing else he could do."

Stopping to look at the envelope again, President Adar placed it flat on the tabletop and gave it a shove. Sliding gracefully across the polished surface, it came to rest in front of Sarah. Wide-eyed, she gingerly picked it up.

"I believe that belongs to you, Captain. Something we took from your kit bag when you arrived. Please forgive the intrusion, but please realize I had to make sure."

"Me, Sir?" squeaked Sarah. "But I've never had any envelopes with me."

"It was found in the end pouch of your kit bag," offered Krystos. "And it was definitely addressed to you."

"All I can say," Adar replied, "is that I hope that letter gives you the some comfort. Because when word of this gets out to the media, you won't be getting a moment's peace."

Pentagon

Washington DC

Earth

Tim was rather unsettled. Unsettled as in the sense of going down a set of stairs in the dark expecting to step onto the lower floor but only to find another step. Something, no make that a number of somethings weren't right.

From the moment he and Joe beamed off the Asgard ship, they were transported to EDF HQ in complete silence. There they were escorted directly to General O'Neill's office and politely asked to wait. Unable to get an answer from anyone, the two of them were on pins and needles with anxiety.

When the door opened, revealing O'Neill himself, the two officers rose respectfully to greet him.

Looking out the door, O'Neill commented, "Glenda, please hold all calls for the time being. This debriefing may take longer than what I expect."

"Understood, General. Should I have the cafeteria send over refreshments?" offered a disembodied voice.

"No thanks. It shouldn't take that long," he replied, closing the door.

The door was locked with a resounding CLICK.

Joe and Tim glanced at each other, panic starting to set in.

"Have a seat, gentlemen," O'Neill offered as he rested himself against the front of his desk. Noticing the trepidation in the two officers, he barked out, "Oh for cryin' out loud, Sit down! There isn't any firing squad. Considering the situation, I thought I'd do this debrief a little differently."

"So," O'Neill continued, as they sat, "the looks on your faces tells me you have questions. Since I believe, we can cover them faster, fire away."

"Τι στο διάολο συμβαίνει,...," began Tim, stopping abruptly at the General's puzzled look

"Sorry… about… that, Sir," Tim stammered an apology. "Between the Asgard indoctrination and the continuous Colonial experience, the language has become somewhat ingrained by now."

"Think nothing of it, Colonel. But just remember, it's all Greek to me."

There was a thunderous pause in the office as Tim and Joe took a stunned look at each other. Looking back at O'Neill, they could see the vague hint of a characteristic smirk on his face.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you Sir?" groaned Harris.

"Yep," grinned O'Neill proudly. "Just for you guys. And no questions on how long I've waited to use it. Clear? Now, about those concerns?"

"What is going on around here, Sir?" queried Simpson. "I've had more people render more professional courtesy than I could shake a stick at. And on one occasion, I swore the person looked at me as if I could walk on water. What the HELL is going on around here?!"

Reaching behind him, Jack picked up two small packages from his desk. After a quick study of their labels, he tossed one to Tim, the other to Joe.

"We were trying to keep things under wraps until we were ready, but somehow everyone knows of your," Jack nodded to both of them, "promotions. And before either of you even thinks of protesting this, the entire High Command unanimously agreed to this. You've more than earned them. Hell, even Sean and Jennifer were promoted. Posthumously of course, for what good it'll do them."

Jack paused sombrely, taking a deep breath.

"This mission is one for the books, gents. Hell, I even think it rates up there with some of the zany runs that SG-1 went through. And that's saying something. So, what happened out there?"

Harris began.

"Things started out as per plan. We were transported aboard the Beliskner and placed in the Asgard pods to be prepared for insertion. We emerged from the pods to find ourselves in orbit over Kobol, the original world of the 12 Colonies. The world appeared abandoned and was slowly recovering from some planet-wide disaster. Sean made some sort of quip about wanting to colonize it," Harris paused, remembering with a grin, "but it was understood to be Colonial property, and the issue was dropped."

"Continuing through a short hyperspace jump, we entered the outer reaches of the Colonial system. Under cloak, Thor took and beamed us down into a remote nature preserve. Apparently, profiles for each of us had been set up in the Colonial database prior to our arrival. Our identification and beginning financial accounts, with currency already set aside, allowed us to smoothly enter Caprican society."

"As you know, from Tim's earlier reports, we were gathering the intel you wanted quickly and easily; maybe too easily. The team worked quietly and tried not to gain anyone's attention. Morale was good with everyone thinking that we'd be done and home in no time. I can't tell you how much of a hit it took when Col.., excuse me, Admiral Simpson told us of the decision for the team to stay."

"I for one," interrupted O'Neill, "was not happy with that decision. The informational treasure trove aside, it wasn't worth losing your teammates over it. Please continue, Colonel."

"It was a year afterwards," Joe continued, "on the anniversary of Anubis' assault of Earth, that we decided to have a REAL team building night. I had found a pub that had all the earmarks of O'Malley's here on Earth. Admittedly a touch more military influence than we had cared for, but it would definitely help the 'homesickness' we were all feeling. On a dare, we rented some virtual reality equipment to let the Admiral here test his skills in one of the military's earlier fighter craft. We were assured that Simpson would be locked into solo mode, never to have any interaction with other participants."

"After an hour of familiarization," continued Simpson, "there was a hiccup in the system, and Murphy decided to have fun at our expense. I went from practice runs against bogey's in an asteroid belt, to a one-on-one duel to the death with another pilot. And as it turned out not just any pilot, but a 'Sierra Hotel' trainer from the Colonial Fleet. The battle ended in both of us killing the other. Where my skills handling the 'Viper' were lacking, it was my unusual battlefield tactics that made an impact on the other observers."

"As a result of that the 'losing' pilot was forced to by a round of drinks for her party. As I was seen as the 'Victor' in this situation, I and my team were offered to share in the 'bounty.'"

"And they saw you as the victor. Why?" questioned O'Neill.

"The other pilot, a Kara Thrace, was cocky, brash, and a 'full of herself' instructor at the local air base. Something like Colonel Cam Mitchell, Sir, only dial up the attitude half again more. The general consensus was that she needed to be reminded that there were others out there that were as good as, or maybe even better than she."

"Okay, understood. And why did you accept the invitation to join them afterwards?"

Tim paused thoughtfully.

"In the big picture, I thought that it would have drawn more attention to us if we declined. At the same time, even though they were military, I figured we could be able to see a family unit in a relaxed situation and add more potential information to our mission mandate. On a personal level, the team needed a chance to interact with equals. Any of our 'off' time was spent keeping to ourselves so as not to attract unwanted attention. I could see that nerves were rubbing raw in our little group, and the chance to socialize would be the balm to sooth it."

"And so…," prodded the General.

"An enjoyable evening was had by all. There were suggestions I should join the fleet, which I tactfully declined saying that I was already happily employed in a job I liked."

Tim glanced momentarily at Joe as he paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. O'Neill noticed but elected to ask about it later.

"After that, life continued as usual, until the Cylons attacked. Eventually, Simmons and I were drafted, 'answering the call' as I remembering you elegantly phrasing it."

O'Neill winced at the memory. Noticing the General's expression, Simpson quickly responded.

"I'm not holding you responsible, Sir. It just seemed that was the point that my team began to fragment. We were still keeping in touch, but I was losing the ability to keep my team mates safe. And when Caprica City was hit..."

"I know what you mean, Simpson," commented O'Neill quietly. "When I was promoted to head the SGC, I took over Hammond's headaches. That included watching my team leave on dangerous missions, never knowing if they'd make it back in one piece.

"Knowing Harris was relatively safe at the Museum," Simpson continued, "I kinda took it on myself to look after another great bunch of guys. Considering the crap we were getting into, I couldn't just let these guys die. But from there the situation just seemed to snowball. First CAG, then XO, and by the time you gave the recall notice, I wasn't going to be surprised if they were wanting to groom me for a command position. All the while, I was worrying how you would react to how involved I had become in the one agency we were emphatically told to avoid."

O'Neill gazed on the two, smiling.

"To be honest with you both, I couldn't be more proud. As a team, you were dumped in the very deep end, with next to no support. You accomplished your objectives, and when the manure hit the oscillating air mover, you both buckled down and ended up smelling like a bouquet of roses from the Presidential garden. You did good, people. You did real good. If the Colonials don't realize this, I'm going to have to rap a couple of noggins to get them to see sense. That being said, I do have one other concern."

"And that is, Sir?," asked Harris.

Shortly after the attack on Caprica City, the Asgard were able to quickly locate and retrieved the remains of both Captains Wirges and Simmons from the rubble. After decontamination, the remains were returned here for burial. As they were being prepared, it was noted that both wore wedding bands. Did you know anything about this?"

Eyes shut for a moment, Tim took a deep breath as he prepared to face the consequences.

"Yes Sir, I did," Simpson replied, looking O'Neill square in the eye. "Understanding that this flew against all the non-frat regulations we had, I gave them permission to continue the way they thought best. Neither had family left back here and being in a war over there they needed the emotional support to be able to carry on with the mission day after day. And, rather than getting involved and inadvertently letting out our secrets in public, I felt it was best to keep it in the family. So to speak. If that hampers my future then so be it, but I will still stand by my decision."

O'Neill shook his head in amazement.

"You keep on adding reasons that justify why your team was the best one chosen for this mission," he muttered.

The weight of the Galaxy seemed to melt off Tim's shoulders.

"So, there will be no significant repercussions over this, Sir?"

"Not really, Simpson. Maybe a public slap on the wrist and a letter of reprimand in your file, but considering the circumstances it shouldn't be anything worse. Is there anything else on your collective minds?"

"Sir, do you know who they have in mind for the contact mission to the Colonies," asked Harris.

"What's the hurry, Colonel? It's not like you have someone pining for you back there, do you?" O'Neill snarkingly quipped. There was a pause, followed by a more subdued, "You … don't…, do you?"

Harris offered a quiet little, "yes."

"And how did this come about, Colonel?"

"Shortly after Caprica City, I took up a position cataloging and researching exodus artifacts at the Delphi Museum," explained Harris. "At one point a woman, Susan Karahalios, from the Prophecies department needed some help. We compared notes between an artifact I was investigating and a prophecy she was working on. As time went on, we sort of clicked and have been living together ever since."

"Are wedding bells in the near future," O'Neill asked, pointedly.

"Prior to the recall, the topic had come up every couple of days," Harris replied. "One day, she'd ask. And on the other, I'd ask. But since our departure from the Colonies, I figure that might have been put on indefinite hold for now. I'm just hoping to settle things with her, one way or another."

O'Neill turned his piercing stare at Simpson.

"And I suppose you've got someone waiting for you as well, Simpson? And how did you go about choosing your paramour, Admiral?"

"General O'Neill," interrupted Harris, "you've got it all wrong! Admiral Simpson remained an officer and gentleman at all times. If anything, the lady claimed him!"

"Okay, Admiral," responded a confused General, "I'll bite. How did it go down for you?"

"It's like this, Sir, " began a chagrined Simpson. "The night I had the VR show down in the Bar, ..."

"The one where you 'bested' this Kara Thrace," O'Neill prompted.

"Yes, Sir," replied Simpson. "But it wasn't Thrace. She was already involved at the time. The officer at the table had a daughter with him. And because I had bested with Thrace, this daughter, Sarah, claimed she was my prize. From that point on she made it her mission to get to know me better."

"And how better did she get to know you, Simpson," growled O'Neill.

"Quite intimately, actually Sir," Simpson continued, as he unbuttoned his shirt.

"I don't see any ring on,…, what are you doing, Simpson?"

"Depending on the Colony they're from," Simpson commented, removing his shirt, "rings aren't always used as part of the ceremonies. In some places, tattoos can be."

Scrolled from his elbow to the shoulder of Simpson's left arm, was an intricately stylized wing pattern. Running parallel to the bottom 'feather' was the delicately marked phrase, 'Semper Fidelis.' O'Neill, groaned, looking at it in disbelief.

"So, you married this officer's daughter."

"She insisted! I tried to talk her out of it giving every rational reason I could think of, but there was no persuading her otherwise."

"And the officer's name?"

"William Adama, Sir. Admiral William Adama."

"Adm…. Did you just say, Admiral?!"

"Yes, Sir," Simpson replied, looking a little perplexed.

"Just a moment, you two!" O'Neill muttered, walking back around his desk. He sat down and paused for a moment as if to remember something. Picking up the phone, he pounded out a series of digits and waited.

"Hello? Walter? No, there is no earthshaking catastrophe, not yet any ways. Listen, are there any 'Penny Benjamin' provisionals still outstanding in the Betting Pool? There is? Who's listed? No, no, n.., wait a minute. Are you sure? Who placed that one? Lee? When the hell did HE start dabbling in long shots? … Aw, forget it. Just let him know that as soon as we can confirm the details, he'll be raking it in big time. And don't forget to remind him that he owes us the first round! Thanks very much. Talk to you later, Sergeant."

"And here I thought SG-1 had weird and strange all locked up. Go figure." O'Neill thought aloud, shaking his head. Looking up from his desk, he tried to bring the debrief back under control.

"Is there anything else that the two of you feel you need to share with the rest of the class?"

"Just one thing, General," Simpson piped up. "If there is a threat of conflict with the Colonial Forces, I will be doing everything I can to find a peaceful solution. I've fought with those people, sweated with those people, and bled with those people. I will not fight them unless I have seen every option looked into, however, insubordinate they may seem. And I do mean EVERY option."

O'Neill quietly pondered the admiral over steepled fingers for a minute. "And I assume your sentiments are likewise, Colonel?"

"Maybe not as emphatically, but yes, sir. It's true that they may have unusual ways, but on the whole, the Colonials are a decent folk. I really don't want to see us fighting them."

"I see," O'Neill commented. "So far conflict with these people isn't even on the table, but to have my options limited before we get started bothers me. Can I be assured that you will keep me informed if something comes up that will impair your ability to defend this command?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Alright then. As of now, the two of you are on a week's leave. It's not much, but the two of you need it after what you've been through. Afterward I'm expecting a complete report," at this point O'Neill cringed, "that will include footnotes, references, and all the trimmings."

"Harris, you will be spending some time with Dr. Jackson comparing your notes and findings at the Delphi Museum. Prepare to be grilled for every last detail. Simpson, just get your rest. We have a specific task in mind for you."

"Alright, both of you get going. Leave your contact information with my secretary as you leave."

Harris, being the first to leave, was anxious to see family, friends, and all those things he had missed so dearly.

Simpson, on the other hand, held back.

"Something on your mind, Simpson."

"Yes, Sir. Why me? Why an Admiral?"

"The original reason still stands, 'Because you would have earned it.' But there are other reasons why. In a nutshell, because….," replied O'Neill.

"Because?"

"The full picture isn't as rosy as we'd wanted to believe. Yes, we lost many good people with Anubis' attack on Earth. A lot of troops, as well as leaders. But in the reconstruction that followed, many personnel couldn't handle the changes. Some lost it believing that they had let everyone down when it really counted. Others couldn't handle working side-by-side with those they had called enemy for all those years. Suicides amongst the military became rampant for a short while, leaving us with willing and capable people, but very few that could lead or train effectively."

"So," Tim offered, "I'm to hit the Academy when I get back?"

"Not exactly. You are a unique individual, Simpson. You have the smarts and the experience from both SGC and the Colonies, something no one else on Earth has. While a number of commanders have the basics of ship to ship tactics, most of your contemporaries still fly the F-302's as if they're in atmosphere. No one has had the experience of fighting in space, like you. It's a whole new world and you're the only one who's been there."

"All the more reason I should be in the Academy teaching tactics!"

"I admit," O'Neill began grudgingly, "that would be the ideal arrangement, but the conditions right now are far from ideal. Personally I would think of it as taking a bit of the Academy with you. What we have in mind is that you would take command of a new ship and train the crew. Once they've learned all they can, they'd be transferred out to pass on what they've learned. You might want to consider it a form of on the job training."

"When you say 'on the job' training, can I safely assume that extended training cruises are not what you have in mind, Sir?"

"Not even remotely. We need you to ultimately take command of the Fifth Fleet. Admittedly you're to start with the flagship with others being attached as they become available. It seems that Admiral Cole is anxious to get the training going as soon as possible."

"There goes the hope I could just get back into the cockpit," sighed Simpson. "I guess 'leading by example' in a cockpit is out also?"

"Oh most definitely," chuckled the General. "Although I think you'll be able to figure out how to use that star to keep yourself up to date with the current fighters, or at least to keep your flying skills up to date. For now, go! Get some rest. Lord knows you need it. And not knowing what is going on with your marriage has got to be weighing heavily on your mind. I don't want you near anything military for a week, you hear me?"

Admiral Simpson's residence

Colorado Springs, Colorado

Earth

The cool crispness of autumn was in the air as Simpson's steps crunched through the fallen leaves. He had spent the last four days at his old home trying to make heads or tails of things and not getting very far. His home had been looked after SGC staff while he had been on assignment: rent paid, mail collected, the grass cut, the usual. The only thing they had overlooked was the refrigerator resulting in Tim trying to decide whether or not a Hazmat team would be involved in its decontamination. In the end it was simpler just to replace it.

He had rattled about the 'empty' house thinking about how Sarah would love it here. The seasons back on Caprica had been interesting, but nothing compared with the crispness in the air, how the trees coloured up or the magical feel of that first snowfall. But every time those thoughts arose, the worry of how she was doing, how she took his departure would rear its ugly head. If the past was any indication, he knew he'd have one very long row to hoe to if ever he was to get back in her good graces.

Taking a couple of beers, Simpson made his way to a spot where the deck overlooked his back yard. During his absence the hedges he'd planted along the fence line those many years ago had finally matured and grown tall, granting him the privacy he had always wanted. Assuming things worked out, he began imagining the BBQ's and gatherings he would have with his 'family' and friends.

With a quick flash of white light and a familiar chime, those daydreams came to a swift end.

"Are you here to socialize, General," Simpson quipped, without looking up. "I've got a beer here if you'd like it."

"I'd take you up on it If I could afford to," replied O'Neill. "But unfortunately duty calls."

"Oh? What's going on that the universe can't get along without me?"

"As Dr. Jackson accused me once before," snarked General O'Neill, "quit being an ass, Tim. I've just come from an hour-long meeting with Admirals Cole and Bauer. They're both adamant that we get you online as soon as possible. Something's come up."

Noting the seriousness in the General's voice, Simpson began paying closer attention.

"About three weeks ago, as part of Bauer's First Fleet defensive preparations, the BC-305 Melbourne came across something while doing a detailed search of our solar system. Apparently we've been visited before. Hiding quietly, in amongst the asteroid belt, we found a station and a small collection of ships. A quick scan confirmed that the ships have a close resemblance to the present Colonial design. Doctor Jackson was sent shortly after to start investigating and confirming our suspicions."

"Colonial?" Simpson questioned. "Any idea how long they've been there?"

"Nothing concrete, but based on energy residue and micro pitting of the hull, the best guesstimates place them being there somewhere between 3500 to 4000 years ago. Colonel Harris was recently sent on-site to assist, but seeing as you are the 'expert' on Colonial ships, I figured it wouldn't hurt for you to have a look."

"So, is this to be official or casual?"

"Oh, most definitely official. Time for the blacks, Admiral."

"Blacks?" Simpson sharply questioned.

"Just get changed," remarked O'Neill. "We took the liberty of updating your wardrobe."

The single rowed, black tunic of the Tau'ri forces felt a little unusual to Tim. After all the years of fastening the double-breasted Colonial uniform, he looked around as if he was missing something, something that would be embarrassing to forget. General O'Neill frowned in annoyance at Simpson's fidgeting.

"Any particular reason we're taking a jumper and not just beaming up to the ship, sir?" queried Simpson, tugging at his collar, "not that I mind riding co-pilot."

"With the different services pushing to keep their traditions in place, wouldn't you know that the Navy insisted that the new officer had to be shuttled in when he or she first takes command."

"Navy?! When did they get mixed up in this?"

"When it was confirmed that the BC-303's, 4's, 5's, 6's and now the 7's were ships not planes," groaned O'Neill. "From that point, they simply took over. A lot of good commanders took the insult personally when Naval teams seemed to run roughshod throughout the fleets, in an attempt to bring them up to Naval 'standards'. It wasn't until after a couple of very violent altercations that Fleet command began to realize the quality and capability of the people that were already in place. It even stung more when they found that even some of the marines stationed on-board could teach the incoming swabbies a thing or two. It's taken some time to soothe the ruffled feathers, but it is getting better. At least the Air Force still has most of the say when it comes to the fighters."

"So, when we get there…," began Simpson.

"Get ready for a whole new experience Admiral. It'll be an eye-opener!"

The journey continued on in relative silence, with occasional communiques crackling in their earwigs. General O'Neill deftly guided the little craft through the maze of swirling shuttles and tenders completing tasks and guiding supplies into waiting bays. Simpson had seen it's like in the way the colour coded deck crews would bustle about the carriers on Earth's oceans, every movement seemingly chaotic but essentially with purpose.

So absorbed by the activity going on around him, Simpson almost missed the final jink in the shuttle's movement as O'Neill framed an impressive ship in the jumper's front viewport.

"Admiral, may I present the BC-307 Kaga."

"The Kaga?" questioned Simpson.

"Oh, yeah," replied the general. "At the moment, one of the meanest ships we have in the arsenal. Had a couple of these been there when Anubis attacked, we would have really given him a run for his money."

"But the name…," continued Simpson.

"With permission from the Japanese people. Hell, from all of the world's peoples. We've been working on resurrecting the names of the proudest ships from history: The Hood for the Brits, the Bismarck for the Germans, the Yorktown, hell we're even considering the Bonaventure for the Cannucks. But considering your own background, we thought this ship would be more of a match for you."

The ship before Simpson greatly resembled a smaller version of the Mercury class Battlestar, although he noted several differences: the engine housings, thinner armour plating, and most noticeably a set of heavy weapons emplacements on the bow and forward edges of the flight pods. As fighters and support ships entered and exited the pods, there was a noticeable glow as they pushed their way through the atmospheric shielding, something the Colonials decidedly did not have. Simpson looked over at O'Neill, left eyebrow raised to olympic standards.

"Oh don't give me that look! Carter already got the fifth degree for the copy-catting. Something about wanting the design's overall robustness and survivability. We're just hoping the similarities won't come back to bite us when the Colonials eyeball it for the first time. While the forward firing weapons can do the same damage as the Battlestars, they just don't have the same magazine size. The intention is to scare off anyone who gets too close rather than getting into the thick of things."

"Kaga LSO, this is Jumper two oh nine, requesting permission to land in port flight pod, over.".

"Two-oh-nine, permission granted. Manual approach to the aft of port pod at 15 mps. Landing pad zero three is lit. Your party is waiting. Call the ball."

"Copy, LSO. Two oh nine has the ball."

"Our party?," wondered Simpson aloud. "I was hoping this was going to be a quiet affair."

"No such luck," grinned O'Neill. "Naval tradition has you piped aboard for the first time. One of the things we had to accommodate during the changes. Later on, you might have a little more say on how things are run."

The jumper landed and was shut down with as little fuss as possible. But what Simpson saw, as the ramp was lowered, made him groan. The reception party had deployed all of the suitable window dressing, including the honour guard, flags, and even the red carpet. General O'Neill couldn't help but smirk at Simpson's obvious discomfort.

"Did you remember to bring that set of orders I gave you earlier? There is a small scripted statement at the bottom you're going to have to follow.

Stopping at the edge of the ramp, O'Neill saluted the waiting officer.

"Colonel Green. May we have permission to come aboard?"

"Permission granted, General O'Neill."

As the two officers stepped off the Jumper's boarding ramp, a bosun's whistle could be heard in the background. For a moment all activity ceased, as all personnel turned and came to attention facing the Jumper.

"Colonel Green," O'Neill formally intoned, "I would like to introduce Admiral Timothy Simpson, the new commanding officer of the Kaga."

"Thank you, General. Admiral Simpson, Colonel Green, XO of the Kaga, sir."

Simpson returned the British officer's smartly offered salute. An awkward moment followed as Simpson double checked the protocol.

"As per Tau'ri Fleet orders 5524, Admiral Timothy Simpson is directed to report to Colonel Green, XO of the BC-307 Kaga, as his relief. Signed Admiral Adam Cole, Admiral Tau'ri Fleet. I relieve you, Sir."

"I stand relieved," came Colonel Green's terse reply.

"Parade, stand at ease. While I appreciate the warm welcome, I'm planning on meeting with all sections over the next few weeks. Colonel Green, please dismiss the Honour Guard with my compliments, after which I would like you to join me in the briefing room. General O'Neill will be bringing us up to speed on why the Kaga is being forced into an early launch."

"Then you won't be inspecting the ship, sir?," inquired the Colonel.

"Not just yet, Mister Green. It seems that General O'Neill has something else that requires our more immediate attention. I will be looking forward to the guided tour after we are under way, though."

"Very good, Sir," came the polite response.

The trip down the gangway was a tense affair, with questions answered with one word responses. Simpson paused for a moment to take a clear look at the XO, concern clearly showing on the Admiral's face. General O'Neill paused and looked on from further down the passageway.

"Is there a problem, Admiral?"

"I don't know. Is there, Colonel? You have my permission to speak freely."

The normally deadpan face slowly creased into a concerned scowl, the eyes staring straight back.

"With all due respect, Sir, before accepting this post, I was British Royal Navy. My family has a long history of service and involvement in Naval tradition. As such, I know how a ship ought to be run. For a ship of this quality to be placed in the hands of some puffed up American flyboy such as yourself, sir, is totally beyond me. For what it's worth, I WILL follow your command, Sir, but you should consider it under protest. Is that clear, Sir?"

Simpson, starring the officer in the eyes, shook his head gently side to side. A smile slowly graced his lips.

"Did I say something funny, Sir?," challenged Green.

"No Mr. Green, you did not. It's just that with all the differences I have seen, I'm just amazed how similar things can be," the admiral quipped cryptically. "I met another XO staggeringly similar to you. I just hope to get the chance to introduce him to you someday. Can I gather you haven't kept up with the latest news on Earth?"

"With the amount of work I've had getting this ship going, I haven't had the luxury to check my messages from home let alone the rumours and innuendos that pass for news these days. Why?"

"Please join the General and myself in the ready room. I can guarantee what you will hear will be rather interesting."

"Gentlemen, let me be brief," intoned O'Neill. He paused for a moment, looking around as if waiting for something to happen.

"Sorry about that. The last time I began a talk like that, someone grabbed me for something monumental. I was hoping I hadn't jinxed myself again."

"The Kaga," he continued, "will shortly be doing a sub-light journey into the Asteroid belt to a position that will be transmitted to you in about an hour's time. There the Admiral will meet with Dr. Jackson and Colonel Harris to render any assistance they may require. Until we can gauge the Colonial response, we want to keep any information you find under wraps. We're simply not sure how it will affect any future discussions with them."

"Begging the General's pardon," interrupted Green, "but where in the universe does Admiral Simpson fit into all of this? I do realize that the Air Force is still smarting over the Naval appropriation of its ships, but I have no idea how he's supposed to make any difference."

"It seems," responded a bemused O'Neill, "that I have been remiss in a proper introduction. For your benefit, Colonel Green, may I again introduce Admiral Timothy Simpson; Former Team lead of SG-13, and lately former XO to Admiral Helena Cain of the Battlestar Pegasus, Colonial fleet."

Green's mouth opened and closed with nary a sound coming forth. Looking in utter dismay, from one officer to another, he found a rather more contrite voice as he responded.

"Oh lord, I feel rather the fool. My humble apologies, Admiral, I meant no disrespect. I had heard rumours of a team being placed in the Colonies, but with the security so high on that type of information I was never able to put names to the brave souls. Can I assume that you will be wanting a new XO?"

"No apologies required, Mr. Green," replied a grinning Simpson. "Your frank responses tell me everything I need to know. You have your resolve and you are not afraid to speak your mind. With what we're getting into, I'm going to need someone like you to keep me on track. Do you think you're going to be up to the challenge, Colonel Green?"

"If you still want me, Sir," replied Green. "I'm a seasoned blue water veteran just itching to add the black void skills to his CV."

"Excellent, XO. We'll make an old space hand out of you soon enough."

Abandoned Colonial Station

Asteroid Belt

Tau'ri System

Not for the first time, Admiral Simpson wondered what in the world had convinced him to take on this job. He knew that he'd have a job in front of him, but not this freakin' big. His ship was rushed from dry dock, with its systems barely installed and tuned. The crew for the most part were excellently trained but were so green Simpson was afraid he'd get grass stains just from mingling with them. Some of the raw nuggets he'd had to work with back on the Pegasus seemed like veterans by comparison.

The fighter jocks were the worst of all. Yes, they could launch, manoeuvre, and fly in formation adequately, but most if not all of their movements were as if they were still in atmosphere. In a rather heated discussion with his XO, Simpson decided to take matters into his own hands.

Taking a page out of General O'Neill's own play book, Simpson took on one training session himself to try to walk a group of pilots through the basics of space combat. With the pilots so full of themselves it ended with an all on one combat situation where he offered a shift off for anyone who could take down the 'old man' himself. The blow to their egos proved to be a wake up call showing how much they still had to learn, and how unforgiving the enemy would be.

Simpson made the most of his time as the Kaga manoeuvred itself towards the Asteroid belt. Although they could have been there sooner using the hyper-drive, Admiral Simpson insisted on the scenic route to allow him the time to have Colonel Green give him the guided tour of the ship. The first few drills that Colonel Green ran were, simply put, disasters. Had they been in battle, Simpson felt he would have had no choice but to raise a white flag in surrender. Knowing what passed for an Academy back home, he had hoped for better but with the enthusiasm he saw in his crew, given time, he knew they would get there soon enough.

All too soon the Kaga found itself approaching position 'above' the asteroid belt, next to her sister ship, the 'Enterprise'. The 'Colonial' station was situated 'below', half way into the Asteroid field. As per newly invoked procedures, Reapers were quickly launched to provide CAP protection around the ship. Receiving permission, Simpson beamed over to the station. And into chaos itself.

At some point in the past, the asteroids, planetoids and any other body that had floated about, had taken disliking to the fact that the station floated intact amongst them and chose to correct that situation. Hasty repairs and the occasional flaring of the recently installed shield system reminded the Admiral of the potential for catastrophe this place presented. That, and the unmoving snowfall of paperwork that right now filled the zero G control room.

"Ah, Tim. Admiral. Not such a good time for a visit. Here, hang on to this for a minute, would you?," Joe blurted as an armful of paperwork was thrust into Simpson's hands.

"What happened? The neighbours take a disliking to your taste in music again?"

"If only. The shielding that the engineering corp installed a couple of weeks ago had a weak spot that nobody told us about. One meteorite in the wrong spot and, kablooey, there goes a week's worth of organization," came the reply.

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Thankfully, no."

Using the magnetic soles of his boots, Simpson made his way into the main chamber of the station.

"Is Doctor Jackson available?"

"NO, Jack!" came a wearied voice in the distance, "I don't know much more than the last time we spoke. I barely got started delving into the records these people left behind, when we had this recent hull breach. We haven't figured out much more, let alone what they call that big ship docked in the yard."

"Uhm…, this isn't General O'Neill, Doctor Jackson."

"Who.., oh crap. Sorry, Admiral. I appreciate your coming just the same."

"No problems, Doctor Jackson. Let's just see what is so interesss…," Tim's voice faded off in recognition. "Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. If the Colonials catch wind of this ship being here, there are going to be problems. Major theological and historical problems."

"Problems?," wondered Daniel. "What problems could this single ship cause for us?"

"This ship, and many others like it, were known as Galleons. They were never individually named but they were the primary transportation around the time of the Exodus from Kobol, the original Colonial home planet. For one of them to be here would validate, in many Colonial eyes, that we are the Thirteenth Tribe. If we were to return to the fold, it is assumed that Colonial Society would once again be whole."

Daniel paused thoughtfully. "And if we were to respectfully decline…?"

"To the hard line individuals, it would be unthinkable. Because the ship is here, Earth IS the lost tribe. They would simply assume that we had lost our way, our traditions, and our history. The only recourse they could see would be to 'help' us to remember, insistently if necessary."

"How insistent could they get?," Daniel questioned, a concerned look building on his face.

"For a clearer understanding, you need to know a little bit of background. To the individual Colonial, Earth to be nothing more than a myth, a lesson to be learned from their Sacred Scrolls. However, their society as a whole, tends to follow the spiritual teachings passed down by the Temple leaders who see themselves as the keepers of the Colonial moral compass. They see Earth as the wayward child who desperately needs to be brought back into the fold.

"So, this is not good, I gather," muttered Daniel.

"Think of the influence that the Catholic Church, or other similar religions, have made on history over the ages. On the whole, it has been a decent idea to try to remind each of us what we could do to better our lives and those around us. In practice it resulted in a form of censorship where a small group determined what the rest of us could say, do, or think, all based on writings handed down over time. On Earth, we've come to respect those differences, while letting each person worship as they see fit. The Colonial version evolved to a point where it could be considered the theological/political cornerstone of their society today."

"Because of the different patron gods, each tribe was originally allowed a certain amount of autonomy in the way it governs itself and worships its god, cooperating solely out of necessity as needed. It was only recently, early into the first Cylon war, that the tribal leadership decided to band together to create a central government based on what they call the "Articles of Colonization". This allowed them to co-ordinate common laws and inter-tribal cooperation, while at the same time create some sort of unity that gave the people something in which to believe."

"Even while this brought things together for the 12 Colonies, the tribe of Earth was still considered nothing more than a legend or myth with no substance whatsoever. However, they 'honoured' what they thought was the spirit of Kobol by including Earth as one of the founding members. This was their way of remembering all of those who lost their way, fell by the wayside, or in one way or another did not make it. In a way it was their version of toasting to 'absent friends'."

"Now that Earth has proven to be more fact than fiction, this will shift the government's stance to make it their mandate to bring us back into the family. They will understand that after spending so much time isolated that we might have differences both major and minor. However, they will make offers to correct what they would see as our misunderstandings, and it will be taken as a personal affront to their sensibilities if we adamantly turn down those offers."

"And if we were to bring the Galleon to their attention?," wondered Dr. Jackson.

"There would be an immediate demand for its return as they would see it as an integral part of their history, regardless where it was found. It's technology would be older than anything they would have had but it would be the irrefutable proof of Earth's ties to Kobol."

"Well, that is going to be interesting," Daniel frowned. "When we were able to power up the station, there were indications that this wasn't the Galleon's first port of call."

"Excuse me?," stammered an astounded Simpson. "Do you have any idea where else has it been before?!"

"TIM! Take it easy!," thundered Harris. "As I've already told you, Doctor Jackson has been here for about a couple of weeks. I only recently arrived. This is basically what we've found on the Station's logs. We haven't had the time to investigate the Galleon yet."

Tim knew he was skating on thin ice, but something told him that he might have to speed things up a bit.

"Doctor Jackson, with your permission, would you mind if I took an engineer and one of your staff members to begin an inspection of the Galleon?"

Jackson and Harris stopped, not quite believing what they had just heard.

"You're asking my…," Jackson began, a wry grin ghosting his lips. "You do realize that Jack is going to question your sanity, right? You know the whole adage that the military is always supposed to be in charge."

"Oh, don't I know it," Simpson said in a chagrined reply, "but I also agree that a find of this importance shouldn't have the military simply running roughshod through it. And if what you've told me is correct, then I believe there is something here. Something that would either help us tread carefully through this situation or have it seriously blow up in our faces."

BC-307 'Kaga'

Asteroid Belt

Tau'ri System

Admiral Simpson was spending so much of his off time either sequestered in his ready room or transporting over to the station that Colonel Green grew concerned. When this clearly began to affect the health of the Admiral, Colonel Green began to question his initial opinions about Simpson's suitability for command. Although Simpson was actively monitoring the various training groups, the time he spent down on the Galleon was concerning the Colonel. It came to a point that Green almost called on the ship's doctor to pressure the Admiral into slowing down. After a very animated discussion, with a very much unmoved Colonel, the Admiral agreed to cut down his research time. As part of the compromise, copies of the logs and other databases were downloaded and stored on the Kaga's computers with the understanding that a report of any findings would be eventually forwarded to Doctor Jackson.

So far the information that report was to contain was both fascinating and disturbing.

It was true that the 13th Tribe had finally reached Earth, but it just wasn't this Earth. For reasons Simpson hadn't yet been able to figure out, they had left Kobol 4,000 years ago and travelled the stars in search of a new home they were going to call Earth. They had originally left to avoid the persecution as a 2nd class citizens. The journey ultimately succeeded in locating a lush world with ample resources to start their own colony.

For about a couple of decades, life on the new world progressed far beyond the settler's dreams. A capital city quickly began to sprout up with homes, parks, industries, and farms all falling into place. Everyone easily found a place in society and indeed many left their indelible marks on how it grew. But for whatever reason, call it sin, sickness, or evil, what they had left Kobol to avoid reared its ugly head.

Amidst the ever growing anger and discontent, a small group began the arduous task of repairing and re-provisioning the aged Galleon. Unlike the others that were staying, this was proving to be just a short respite in their trek through the interstellar wilderness.

"So, all was not well in the garden, eh?," quipped General O'Neill.

"Not really, sir. And for the life of me, I can't figure out what caused the differences in the first place. The cause was so commonly known that the logs only mention it as 'the original sin'. Other than references to being 2nd class citizens, there has been no other details clarifying this in either the logs or personal notations."

"When you insisted on continuing to help with this project, I was wondering where your mind was. That being said, Daniel is enormously grateful for the input you and Colonel Harris have added to this project. The wealth of cultural background and historical knowledge the two of you brought to his aid has been, in his words, 'invaluable'. And that is saying something. Have you been able to determine where this 'other' Earth is supposed to be?"

"Actually, yes Sir. Even though they had to leave, there were several entries made concerning a longing to return, There was one person that included plans on how he or she was planning to force the others back. This entry included a rough set of coordinates that indicate the planet is not too far away from here. I've given Navigation a run down on the Colonial coordinate system in order for them to work out a method of converting any Colonial star charts over to ours."

"Good," responded O'Neill, warmly. "I was beginning to wonder if you were beginning to neglect your other 'obligations', Simpson. Admirals Cole and Bauer were beginning to question your capabilities, voicing concerns that maybe you had returned to too high a post far too soon. That being said, how well do you see the training progressing?"

"Honestly sir," winced Simpson, "I think it's too soon to tell, but your 'Top Gun' style of classes are definitely capitalizing on the crew's competitive nature. Already we've had a couple of pranged birds, and a number of bruised egos. I'm concerned how hard this crew of mine will push themselves to make the 'old man' proud. There's been a couple of incidents where over achieving pilots have 'buzzed the tower'. I'm almost afraid of what they'll do next?"

"Awe, come on, Admiral," grinned the General, "you know boys will be boys?"

"Yeah, I know! But one of these times one of those mosquitoes of theirs is going to do more than scratch the paint on MY bird. And it's barely out of warrantee!"

"Sounds like they need somewhere to direct that energy of theirs, and I've got the just the mission for them. Light a fire under navigation to get you those co-ordinate system working because I need you to see what kind of neighbours we have at that 'other' Earth."

"Just the Kaga, Sir?"

"No, you'll be accompanied by the BC-305's Bismarck and Hood. They will rendezvous at your location in the next 5 hours. I know you have a lot on your plate, so I thought I'd start you small for the time being."

"Thank you, General O'Neill," a stunned Simpson whispered in response. "And if we were to encounter someone on this world, how am I to play it? What do I tell them?"

"What does your experience with the Colonial home worlds tell you?"

"To be honest with them but at the same time be careful with what we disclose to them. Especially how we came to locate them."

O'Neill frowned. "Why so, Simpson?"

"From what I gathered on Caprica, there is an overall feeling that anything Colonial belongs to the Colonies regardless where they were discovered or who discovered them. We would be most likely pressured to turn the Galleon and anything involved with it over to the Colonial government for safekeeping. Any future studies would be at their behest and control."

"So, slow and cautious then?"

"That would be my best guess, sir."

"Alright, then. Your orders are to take the fleet to outside this other Earth's system and approach the planet at sub-light, so as not to scare them. From there you are to monitor for any communications and approach them as you see fit. Is that understood, Admiral?"

"Like crystal, General."

Kaga

Outer edge of the Terra Star system

As the trio of ships had successfully transited from hyperspace outside the target star system, a squadron of the new Reaper fighters were launched to provide CAP and extend the short range scanning for the small fleet. With the Kaga holding a central point, the Bismarck and Hood moved several light seconds above and below the plane of planetary orbit to obtain clearer scans of the system. With data links confirmed and secured, the small fleet slowly made its way into the system mapping as they went.

An initial scan of the system indicated that there were 7 planets easily distinguishable, orbiting the central star. Unlike back home, it was the second planet that orbited safely in the habitable zone of this system. But as this planet was on the far side of the system's primary, its surface details would have to wait until they had gotten closer.

The first thing that was noticed was the decided absence of communications of any kind. None. Nada. No subspace, no tachyon (blame the sci-fi nuts), not even simple radio waves from decades back. There was the isolated satellite that floated by but, for all intents and purposes, the 'airwaves' were quiet. In Simpson's mind this did not bode well, because satellites indicated technology. And with that technology usually came 'noise'.

It was once the fleet finally approached the planet that Simpson's worst fears were confirmed.

At one time this planet had had a thriving civilization, but not any more. Whatever had happened took place decades, possibly centuries ago. The radioactive ruins of many great cities that dotted the landscape, could attest to that fact. While the impact craters from large explosions could be seen from orbit, a closer view revealed that the rest of the damage had accumulated from the sheer neglect of time.

It was a sombre tone that ran through the bridge as as the crew looked on, something about seeing what the 'Cold War' could have done to them if it had gotten worse. The physical damage itself was localized to the highly populated areas of the planet, impact and explosion craters proved that. Unfortunately it was the weather and prevailing winds that were guilty of sharing this 'lingering' death as they would have blown it around the rest of the world.

A coordinated sweep of the planet by ships and shuttles was organized, mapping cities, landscape and resources. Amongst the things highlighted were where places of technology or history could have survived, leaving clues as to what had happened here. As each were located in turn, conditions were checked to see how safe it would be for crew members to do an on site inspection.

While some places were immediately ruled out for structural instability or lingering radiation it was surprising how many others could now be approached safely. It seemed that over time much of the radiation away from the strike points had dissipated to a level that could be tolerated. It was those areas that an intense search was focused.

Colonel Green nearly had a heart attack when he found out that Admiral Simpson had been part of the teams that had first beamed down to the planet's surface. It was after the Admiral's second visit that Colonel Green defiantly asked Simpson to stop beaming down. Citing protocol, he advised Simpson that the Admiral was not to put himself into danger, but was to delegate the task to someone that was just as equally capable. Even though Simpson had other reasons for diving into the work, he acknowledged this and the rest of the visits were delegated to other away teams.

The searches proved that various planets in the system did hold deposits of Tylium and other resources useful to the Colonials. What was also proved was that there was nothing here for the Tau'ri that they didn't have access elsewhere.

Information that they had been able to gather from surviving bunkers, newspapers and remote libraries had given them a surprisingly complete history of this world's growth. Understandably earlier documents were somewhat scarce, but as time went on the historians here took it as a personal pride in keeping fairly accurate records. While the final conflict was never included, it was clear that the Terran Earth had been nuked as part of an exchange between two opposing nations or 'groups' of individuals. The libraries did not have much to say, but the newspapers had reported an uprising of some sort where the slaves(?) had decided to take matters into their own hands.

Not fully understanding, Tim did some more digging into the archive of news articles and historical tomes. It took a little while for him to uncover anything, but when he did it made him cringe…

"Admiral! Good to hear from you. What do you have for me today?," commented O'Neill.

"Barring the radiation, the planet is a treasure trove of resources that the Colonials could readily use. The technology definitely won't be of much use as it is behind what they have now. But for us, there's not much here that we would need."

"So. No honkin' big space guns, no new friends to make nice with?"

"N..no sir," replied Simpson, hesitantly.

O'Neill's puzzled face stared at him from over the ether.

"Buuuuttttt…..," the general stretched out. "I know I heard a 'but' in there."

Simpson fidgeted in his seat for a couple of moments before he responded.

"I've already forwarded a report to Dr. Jackson on this but," he paused, "the historical records cleared up something I had been wondering since the station in the Asteroid belt."

"Aaaannnnd…?," pulled O'Neill.

"The Colonials seem to be locked into some sort of self fulfilling prophecy. Everyone is aware of the adage 'This has happened before, it will happen again'. The problem is that they seem to go out of their way to make it happen repeatedly."

"Come on, Admiral. I can only say 'Aaaannnd...' so many times."

"It's the Cylons, sir. In each go round, they recreate the mechanical lifeforms they use to ease their existence. And in each case, something gets away from them and goes 'Terminator' on them."

"Are you sure that these things are 'Terminators' and not replicators?"

"Absolutely, General. They have no where near the technology to create anything like a replicator."

"Great. Just great," groaned O'Neill. "And can you back this up with some sort of proof?"

"My findings and the records Colonel Harris uncovered confirm that the situation took place both here and on Kobol. That was the reason for their mass exodus in the first place. The only reason the Cylons didn't succeed in the 12 Colonies this time, was because of our interference."

"It just gets better and better," muttered O'Neill, his head bouncing on the desk. Looking up, he gave Simpson a piercing glare.

"Admiral, I need you to keep this intel under wraps for the time being. I'm not sure how this will affect any dealings we will have with the Colonials when we see them in about a month's time, but I want to follow some earlier advice you gave me. Play nice, but be cautious about what information we hand over to them. There's no telling how they will react. For the time being, I need you to pack things up and place a series of sensor buoys in orbit on the outside of the system so we can monitor it for changes."

"And, since there is nothing left for you to do there, I need your fleet to take part in the monthly inspection we do of the Tollan homeworld. While it is true that we are recovering any technology that can help us, we are also trying to make sure that the world is left alone if any surviving Tollanians do make it back."

Presidential Office

Delphi City, Caprica

It impressed President Adar how much effort Earth's team had spent trying to become part of Colonial society during its time here. When they first arrived, much of their time was spent travelling between the worlds, almost as if to get a taste of each Colony's culture and atmosphere. It wasn't too surprising that they eventually chose to settle down and spend their time in Caprica City. From the information Intelligence had on hand, that one city was the closest thing to what they knew as home.

Looking at the various people around the table, he knew that a number of questions had been left unanswered, or at least not to everyone's satisfaction. Agent Krystos still held a grudge against her professional integrity for what Simpson and his team had been able to pull off. Admiral's Nagala and Cain still felt unsettled that a stranger to the Colonies had been so accepted. The Adamas presence was based on the unsure status of her marriage to Simpson himself.

"I've asked you here today," he intoned to the various officers around the table, "to consider any further ripples we might expect from this SG-13, and to anticipate the delegation that Earth will be sending in a month's time."

Turning to Captain Simpson, Adar continued.

Captain, I would like to inform you that the Courts have decided to uphold the status your marriage, considering that every fact he had supplied for documentation was truthful. That is of course if you discount his colony of origin."

There was a quiet chuckle from most people around the table. Sarah sat facing the gleaming top, a sad little smile on her face.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, "but at the moment I'm not sure how I feel about that. Part of me wants to grab him and hold on tight, but another part simply wants to give him a healthy backhand across the face and leave him sputtering in the dirt."

"Ooooh," Cain muttered, in a theatrical aside, "I can see where she got that from, eh, Bill?"

Admiral Adama, grinning, could only shake his head ruefully.

With a stern glare from their Senior officer, the two officers quietened back down. "And I've heard you received another letter from him recently," Nagala prodded.

"Yes sir," she continued. "It was one that had been sent through a quieter section of the postal service. There wasn't much more in it than what we had already learned from the earlier files. Copies of it have been forwarded to Colonial Intelligence, but overall it was just of a personal nature. That's all."

"I concur, Mr. President," began Agent Krystos. "The letter itself was nothing more than a personal contact from the Colonel to the Captain. Though I have to admit that because of its phrasing, I have the feeling that he is uncertain of their future, almost to the point that he's expecting to lose her in the end."

After a quiet pause, Admiral Nagala raised the question, "Is this something we can use to our advantage?"

"Are you insane?!," demanded a dumbfounded Adar. "In front of his own wife, even!"

"Oh get down from your high horse, Mr. President. I'm just voicing something everyone else is thinking. The man has been a part of our military, he knows how we think, for god's' sake. That means they have one hades of an advantage over us, and all I'm trying to do is to figure out a way of levelling the playing field. No disrespect meant, Captain."

"Admiral," began a tired President, "I will not resort to the tactics that pits husband against wife, only unless it became absolutely necessary. That being said, I willing to let you look into any options along those lines with the clear understanding that absolutely no actions are to be taken without my clearly expressed permission. Do I make myself abundantly clear?"

"Very, Mr. President."

"Alright, then. Agent Krystos, I believe you had one other item on the agenda?"

"Yes, Sir," she said, checking her planner. "At this point in time, we have no idea who Earth is going to send to the talks. There is a very good chance that Simpson is going to be included, even if just as a guard for the Ambassador or Representative. It's most likely he'll be there to help translate, or even to get a read on the representatives we send."

"Given his rank and leadership ability," commented Admiral Cain, "I don't see him being sent as a simple guard. Not only would it be a waste of his talents, it would be an insult to the man himself. Think this through with me. Simpson is fluent in the Caprican language. Who ever recorded or dubbed the messages that we have received so far is not. It's quite possible that Simpson would be an intermediary to help with communications between the two groups. At the very least he would make sure that any translation was accurate, in both directions. No, I think Simpson would play a more important role than what we presently understand."

"Well, if he does in fact attend," retorted Agent Krystos, "is there any chance that they would use him as part of their military muscle, to try to intimidate us into capitulating to their demands?"

"I don't know. I really don't know," countered the senior Adama. "Who knows what or how the Thirteeners have had to deal with in the Galaxy? We haven't had any contact with them since before the Exodus of Kobol, and that was at least 4,000 years ago. And for them to have developed the ships and weapons that they now have is disturbing to say the least."

"Why do you say that?," questioned Nagala.

"Our Sacred Scrolls teach us that the universe was made for man to rule, there are no other life forms out there. So far our scouting has shown us that the star systems around us are, for the better term, barren. I'm not challenging the Scrolls here, but what if the area that the Thirteeners travelled to isn't so empty? What if there is other life out there, with some of it is far more barbaric than what we could possibly imagine?"

"Zeus help us if that's true," prayed Nagala. "Do we have anyone in mind to greet the potential representatives from Earth?"

"A couple," quietly responded Adar, "but I have someone in mind that just might be able to blunt Simpson's presence at these meetings. I'm only hoping she'll agree to it."

"If you're thinking of the same person," Adama offered, soberly, "I can almost assure you that she will insist on being there. Where her little girl's happiness is involved..."

BC-307 Kaga

Fifth Fleet

Earth Orbit

It was no secret that Admiral Simpson was spending more and more time alone in his quarters. Except for routine duties, he had kept to himself working intensely on translation and research of the documentation and logs recovered from both the Galleon and Station.

Admittedly it made for some very interesting reading. Fleeing from Kobol and finding 'Earth', only to be forced to travel onward to a new 'Earth'. If it wasn't for the seriousness of the situation, Tim figured this would make for a great script for the newest soap opera back home.

It was after a week of this self-imposed seclusion, that reality decided to intrude.

"Excuse me, Sir."

Simpson momentarily raised his head to notice Colonel Green peeking in the hatch.

"What is it, Colonel. I'm rather busy right now."

"I need to discuss something very important with you, sir."

"Can't it wait," came Tim's annoyed response. "The best time is tomorrow's daily sectional meeting."

All seemed back to normal as Simpson heard the hatch door shut. What got his attention was hearing the lock click into place.

"What is the meaning of this, Colonel?"

"With all due respect, sir, but permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Permission denied. Now leave, Colonel."

"Like HELL," came the thunderous reply. "What is going on, sir?"

Tim's head snapped up as if he'd been slapped.

"I've noticed how you've been slowly but steadily removing yourself from general contact with the crew. The crew and section heads have also noticed. Scuttlebutt has it that there are two big reasons for the change. First is that you are embarrassed as hell by the ship and its crew. Something about their not meeting up to 'Colonial' standards. The second is that you're preparing to jump ship and return to the Colonies the first chance you get. I get that this historical stuff is going to be necessary during the upcoming conference, but something is telling me that that isn't the whole story. So let me ask you again, sir. What the hell is going on?"

The change was slow and startling, as Simpson seemed to deflate in his chair. Gone was the stoic strong Commander, and in its place was something like a little child that was about to be punished for doing wrong.

"Oh, come off it, Admiral. You're the Commander of one of the Tau'ri's most powerful starships. Whatever is troubling you can't be all that bad!"

Simpson shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Colonel Green, are you married?," he asked quietly.

"No sir, I've never had the luxury. My youngest brother is, though. And to a beautiful lass, that she is."

"Has there been any time time that your brother has run afoul with his in-laws? Specifically her mother?"

Green grinned at the memory.

"There were rumours going 'round about some sort of nefarious goof-ups on his part, but nothing was ever said about it. I remember his wife wouldn't speak to him for at least a week, and it took some extraordinary acts of penance before he was allowed to visit her parents again. But sir, I don't understand. How would this apply here?"

Simpson looked at Green in an almost pleading stare, almost as if to ask him 'to connect the dots'.

The look on the Colonel's face slowly changed from humour to a horrified pity as understanding began to trickle through.

"So. Can I safely assume that you …," he began

"… have a wife back in the Colonies," finished Simpson. "What complicates things is that her father is an active Admiral in the fleet, while her mother is a high level dignitary in the Colonial Government."

Colonel Green winced at the implications.

"And knowing you, sir, this pairing was not done to further your cover, correct Sir?"

"Far from it, Colonel," replied Simpson. "And now with mere days before we are to transport Dr. Jackson and Mr. Woolsey back to Colonial space, I grow more and more concerned about what is going to happen. Will I be taken realistically when the people I served with hear of my promotion? What sort of hell am I to catch from my in-laws for how I treated Sarah? And finally, will Sarah want to take me back after all that has gone on? The potential results have me either second guessing myself, or hiding to work on the research."

"I can't answer those questions, sir. But I need to ask you something else. What do you think about this ship and crew? From time to time all we've heard was 'the colonies this' and 'the colonies that', to the point that some are thinking that you prefer them over us. Is this true, sir?"

The Admiral gave Green a pained look.

"I was not aware that it was coming out that strongly. To you and the crew, Colonel, I am sorry for that. I assure you that the past few days have been spent trying to deal with just those questions. And for the record, I am Tau'ri, Colonel, have no doubt about that. And with my dying breath I will defend Earth and all of her colonies. But because of my past experiences, I am also Colonial. And, as the Bard phrased it, 'therein lies the rub'."

"This ship and crew is not Colonial, I've come to realize that now. But that doesn't mean that they cannot be as good or even better than anyone else out there. So, when we get to where we're going, everyone is going to have to accept them for what they are, warts and all. Right?"

Colonel Green was grinning as he gave his nod of approval. "Right you are, sir!"

"Oh, and one more thing, Colonel."

"Yes sir?," came the puzzled reply.

"If anyone does come across a fancy, sequinned Admiral's jump suit, please be sure that it is dumped into the plasma drive as soon as possible. This 'old man' does not want to do anything that will tarnish the good reputation that this ship and crew has obtained. Clear?"

The laughter could be heard from several decks away.

Delphi City

Caprica

Despite the outside warmth, Sarah (Simpson/Adama – who even knew right now) sat in her favourite stuffed chair, hugging her knees and wrapped in a light blanket from the bed. The past few days had been a whirl of activity and talk; some topics she hadn't had time to answer and others she hadn't had time to even think about. Now she just wanted to have the time to put things into perspective.

Tim had left her a message. Of course Colonial Intelligence made copies for themselves before grudgingly returning the original to Sarah. Something told her that nothing would be private between the two of them for the foreseeable future, or at least until she could have a few heated words with her 'husband'. And if he thought that her family could be intimidating, just wait until he was on the receiving end of her FULL wrath. Then he'd think twice about pulling the same stunt again.

She had stewed for a few moments at Tim's audacity, but then cooled back down to re-read the simple note he had left her. It had been like this for the past few days, one moment betrayed, another annoyed, then angered, and then thoughtful. Even when they had been by themselves, Tim seemed to keep his thoughts guarded, censored almost. Sarah would question him about it, almost to the point of badgering him, but he would patiently comment that he wasn't ready to let her know just yet.

There were the occasions when they would see news clips about lost family or lost love, that his guard would slip and she would see untold pain in his eyes, whether from a loss of his own, or loss that he had had to witness. But those lapses in control were very few in number. It wasn't until the video was released showing the massive battle for Earth that she had began to understand. The bio about him said he had lost his sister and her family, but it was the video that showed Sarah how it had happened.

What tore her even more was a video of Tim in his earlier days. In one scene she could see him smiling and laughing as if he hadn't a care in the world, with the only obligations to his team and this mysterious SGC. Even when they had first met, Tim had been guarded in his behaviour. Sarah had initially chalked it up to nerves. But as time wore on and the relationship grew more serious, Tim never let go of his guard.

That didn't mean he didn't love her. She could see it in his eyes the day he accepted her proposal that he was totally committed to her. He would have died than break that promise to her. But still, in light of all that, she still felt hurt that Tim felt he couldn't confide in her about those things nearest and dearest to his heart. If he returned ... NO! WHEN Tim returned, politics be damned, the two of them were going to have a heart to heart. No more secrets! She wanted, more than anything, to meet the man her husband once was, his goals, his dreams.

Unfortunately, that would be a problem which would take a little more effort to overcome.

Like with their 'secret' marriage, word leaked that Sarah's husband was a part of the 13th tribe. When that came out, she couldn't get a moment of peace. Reporters, photographers, videographers,… anyone who had anything to do with reporting harassed her with questions upon questions. At first the topics were simple enough, but from there they went from bad to worse. It seemed like once she had answered one question, she was obligated to answer them all. It was like feeding the scavenging birds; feed one and then you've got to feed them all, more and more and more.

She had tried to continue with life as normal, but that proved to be virtually impossible. Reporters hounded her every step, questioning her relationship, asking about Tim's likes, catching images of her in everyday activities. The last straw was when a very pushy reporter broke into their home, photographing and examining anything within reach, demanding that the public had a right to know what they could expect from these 'backwater' cousins of theirs.

The Military police did not look kindly on the intruder harassing one of their own. He was dragged, kicking and screaming, off to the nearest military stockade, with the camera and any recordings he had taken trashed on the spot. So CI stated. And as a final touch, a security perimeter was set up to ensure her privacy was maintained. It was a wonderful illusion, but it still left her feeling like a prisoner in her own home.

If it was any consolation, Susan (Joe's companion) was in similar straits. Having successfully locked down the town house that they had shared, Susan had taken to hiding out and living at the museum. At least there, with the added security in place, she could continue her work piecing together Kobolian exodus history and assorted prophecies. Maybe, somewhere in all those dusty relics, there was something that could shed more light on this mysterious 13th tribe.

Sarah, on the other hand, had no such refuge. At work she was mobbed by her friends and colleagues, while at home she was hounded by the press and various thrill seekers. For the moment she'd been granted a compassionate leave from all duty. Time to try to sort things out, to rest and recover, to make sense of what was happening to her. Time to maybe think of what the future might hold for her, for them.

As if that would happen any time soon.


	10. War is Hell Politics Are Worse

Hello Everyone sorry it took so long, but there was a lot of work done to this chapter. Pride and I have work on things for a bit on this chapter, and it took some time getting some of the things right. I do hope to have the next chapter up faster, but no promises Politics are evil to deal with in any story. Well on with the story flames will be used to cook dinner.

 **SG-13 The Cylon War**

 **Chapter 10**

 **War is Hell. Politics are Worse**

 **Presidential Office**

 **Delphi, Caprica**

It had taken time, but the original ceremony of reunification for the 13 tribes had finally been found. It had taken the researchers at the Delphi Museum the better part of two weeks, sifting through mounds of historical documents to uncover it. But now having read through it for the fifth (or was it the seventh) time, Adar was beginning to wonder if they should amend or even completely rewrite the archaic process. Not only were some of the rituals questionable to begin with, there were passages that none of the researchers could understand let alone translate. Adar only wished the Earthers were there. Maybe they could shed some insight on the documents that had laid unseen for centuries..

But for hundreds of years the thirteenth tribe was considered a myth, something to be talked around a campfire or over a friendly coffee. Everyone had an opinion, but willingly admitted that it was all a childish fantasy. Just something to fill the empty time. Unfortunately, ever since Simpson and Harris' departure, there hadn't been any ongoing signs of the Earther's presence. Nor was there any indication that they were on their way back. The lords only knew if the Earthers were going to keep this appointment with destiny.

As with any conspiracy/fantasy, there were self-pronounced experts claiming to have the inside track on what was really going on. Some of the 'half-baked' theories being expounded were fodder for the grocery store tabloids, along with the occasional claim of someone having Zeus' love child. That rapidly changed as clips from various gun camera footage showing strange ships dealing death to the Cylons, were leaked from the military archives. Once again the old arguments were pulled out and dusted off and re-examined with respect to the new evidence that others from Kobol might have also survived. But once the video clips from the box had been released to the public media, they and the leaked camera footage from the war took the Colonies by storm.

As a result, security was at the highest it had ever been. Two-thirds of the Colonial fleet had been posted in the Helios Alpha system, with three whole battle groups ensuring the security of Caprica itself. Not wanting the rest of the system to feel neglected, a circulating web of picket ships had been arranged along the outer reaches. If nothing else, it was hoped that the display of martial might would reassure the Earth delegation it was best for all that they returned under the Colonial banner.

It was with a wearied sigh that Adar leaned back in his chair. With what had already come to pass, he was pondering for a moment all of the possible changes that could take place over the following days.

 **Colonial Ship Charybdis**

 **Central Picket posting**

' **Above' the Barycentre**

 **Cyrannus System**

The Void. The Dump. The wart on Zeus' backside.

This place had many names, none of them very complementary. What it boiled down to was a punishment posting for those poor souls that had succeeded in pissing off or annoy some 'senior' officer.

Something Fleet Captain Stavros had unwittingly done well.

The older Sagittaron born Veteran had had the misfortune of crossing paths with an ambitious, newly commissioned, wet-behind-the-ears Caprican Lieutenant that was itching to make a name for himself. And once the dust had settled, the Lt. had gained a berth on a prestigious in-system Battlestar, while Stavros and his crew had been banished to the hinterlands. And in the end they might get to hear about the news about the Earther's arrival, 4th or 5th hand, in the next 3 months. If only they were that lucky.

Not one to wallow in self-pity, Captain Stavros began pushing his crew to keep to the high standards that he knew they were capable. They had just started into the second 'week' of their deployment when the alarms began wailing away. Shipboard sensors had detected an energy spike off the port bow, causing the alert Duty Officer to sound General Quarters. A flurry of launching EW Raptors exploded from the ship to supplement the existing cameras and sensor readings.

The Captain arrived at the CIC shortly after, joining the crew as they watched the impossible happen. On overhead monitors replayed the image as a swirling blueish (greenish?) something blossoming off in the distance.

"Sensors!," barked the Captain.

"It's a stable something," came the reply. "If I had to make a guess, a portal of some sort. But to where..., I really have no idea."

"Does it pose a threat to the Colonies?"

"I have no idea, sir. You'd have to ask one of the eggheads back at R… Wait one. Something's beginning to form in the middle of the 'cloud'. Something big!"

With an actinic flash of light, a ship almost the size of a Mercury Class Battlestar was spat out from the depths of the cloud. Decelerating at an insane rate of speed, the ship began a gentle bank, coasting until it came to a stop 20 km away, facing the Charybdis. Almost as if a challenge of old, the other ship sat silent and still, waiting to see who would blink first.

Similar to the battlestar, this ship had two rectangular flight pods tucked close to the blocky main hull, running about three quarters the length of the ship. An armored 'cloak' rested over most of the upper surface with a sensor/control tower towards the aft on the port side. The only insane detail to the whole picture was the multitude of windows that could be seen throughout the vessel.

Taking a moment to steady his voice and nerves, the Captain requested that a hailing frequency be opened.

"This is Captain Stavros of the Colonial Ship Charybdis. Identify yourself and your reasons for being in Colonial Space."

"Captain Stavros. Please forgive the abruptness of our arrival. This is Colonel Green of the Tau'ri War Carrier, Kaga. We are on a mission to transport a civilian delegation for a meeting on Caprica. May we have permission to enter Colonial Space?"

The communications officer was a little stunned, to say the least. He'd had a chance to hear both the Djerba recordings and then the commentary that came with the message to the President. Both had been somewhat awkward and stilted. This voice, however, was more fluent than the others; easier to follow and understand.

"Permission? Colonel Green, don't you think it's a little late to be asking permission?"

"Well, Captain Stavros, since this is officially the first time that we've met, we thought we'd mind our manners."

"Manners? That's almost like a thief slipping out the back door to ask permission to come in the front."

"Captain, we're not here to cause any problems. But if I was informed correctly, we were happily playing in your backyard. It was you folk who insisted we come inside."

There was a momentary pause over the airwaves.

"This really isn't getting us anywhere, is it Mr. Green?"

"No, I don't believe it is, Captain Stavros."

There was another pause.

"If there is any concern, Captain Stavros, I heard no disrespect. Just the usual comments of an exceptional officer attempting to defend his post."

"My, uhm, thanks, Colonel Green. Please hold your position until clearance is granted."

"Understood. Kaga out."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Stavros turned, issuing orders as he moved.

"Alright, let's not keep our visitors waiting. I want all images, videos, and voice recordings loaded and sent on a Raptor, yesterday. The President is probably waiting for them. So the sooner we pass the message, the sooner they get to where they need to go. So let's move it, people."

Colonel Green had a concerned look on his face as he turned to face the Admiral.

"Are you sure this is what you wanted, sir? A first contact is usually handled by the commanding officer, not a lowly XO like myself."

"I can appreciate your concern, Mr. Green. But I think you can also agree that this is not a usual first contact. I can assure you that many of those people are expecting me to lead the delegation, to impress them with Tau'ri know-how. In reality, though, it's supposed to be two civilizations meeting for the first time. I really need to remain in the background."

"But, sir, sooner or later they will ask about you."

"And sooner or later I will respond. But until that point, we need to focus on the mission at hand. By the way, good call on handling the Captain. Carry on, XO."

"Aye, Admiral."

"Can I safely assume that things are still calm?," quipped a voice from behind.

"Yes, Mr. Woolsey, they are," Simpson responded, turning to face the delegates. "We were just making polite with the locals."

"And the translator," interrupted Dr. Jackson, "did it perform as we had hoped?"

"Yes, Dr. Jackson, the translator worked just fine. Colonel Green had no problems hashing out a minor issue with the dear Captain. The remote units should work fine when you meet with the Colonial delegates tomorrow."

"That is a relief," muttered Woolsey. "I was concerned that Dr. Jackson would end up shouldering most of the communications. I still don't understand why you are choosing to not participate in the negotiations. Because of your intimate knowledge of their language, culture, you'd be ideal to help communicate our intents and offerings to them. Instead, you're planning to spend all of your time on board the Kaga. Why?"

Shifting from foot to foot, Simpson shook his head.

"Mr. Woolsey, for the moment, this is where I'm needed the most, training this crew. From what I understand, there are battles coming, and this crew needs all the training it can get."

"But we're in the Colonial home system," countered Woolsey. "We're on a diplomatic mission to peacefully communicate with them. Why treat it as if the fighting could break out at any moment?"

Simpson took a deep breath, releasing it out slowly.

"Did you just hear Captain Stavros response? If that is any indication of the general population, there are still many Colonials that are just a bit 'pissed' with me for my prior visit. They are a proud people ready to defend what is theirs. If I just simply show up, they'll assume we're here for something. It's best that we put a civilian face on the delegation to direct them to our true concerns. As for me, I need to ensure that this ship is ready to defend itself from all enemies. As it stands, this crew is not ready for a toe to toe battle with the Wraith. I mean to see them ready for it. So, unless something comes up that requires my attention, I will remain here with my crew."

"Point taken, Admiral."

"And what of the common Colonial," intruded Jackson, "is there any chance that some of them might want to start something?"

"Like on Earth, there are always some that will want to rock the boat, get attention, or even voice a grievance. But considering how much we helped, or lost ourselves," Tim paused for a moment, "I'm hoping that should keep them in check, as long as nothing damages the goodwill we've built up for you."

Richard Woolsey frowned as one more concern came to mind.

"Is there any chance that any of the Colonials might use your wife to force issues their way? I realize that this would be a rather crass and underhanded move on their part, but what I've learned about human nature, it is an option some might consider using regardless of the ethical or moral repercussions."

Simpson wearily sat down in the command chair, an air of concern clearly enveloping him.

"I've been hoping that something like this will never come up. While the ceremony Sarah and I took part in was in a 'Vegas' style setting, it was one full of traditions including, flowers, tattooing, and full registration with both the religious and civilian agencies. There would be a great cry of outrage from the strongly religious if anything like that were tried." Simpson chuckled for a moment, recalling a recent colonial news article. "I've known a couple of politicians that were bodily thrown from their office for even suggesting it in jest."

With an even longer pause, the Admiral continued in an even quieter voice.

"However, if Sarah has chosen to annul the marriage, I can almost guarantee that the kid gloves will be off and some might even be out for blood."

"This is Carlos Hypatia of the Colonial News Network bringing you a late-breaking news flash."

"Ever since the release and leaking of various video footage, there has been an ongoing debate if in fact the Thirteenth Colony truly exists. Various experts and conspiracy buffs both sides of the argument have come forth with evidence that they claim conclusively proves their point of view. But, unfortunately, none of this has proven to give a decisive answer. That is until now."

"It has been reported and confirmed by Presidential sources that the Thirteenth Tribe has arrived. A ship calling itself the Kaga was intercepted by Colonial forces in the upper limits of this system. After requesting and being given permission to enter our system, they began the final leg of their journey to Caprica escorted by Captain Stavros of the Charybdis."

"The battle groups headed by the Atlantia, Pegasus, and the venerable Galactica are in the process of clearing an approach to the capital to prepare for this historic return of our missing brethren. All private and commercial traffic is requested to stay clear of the no-fly zone. It has been said that the FTL drive used by the Earthers has been described as significantly different requiring a bit of a runway to slow down. How different? Our sources say we'll find out in the next hour."

"Please stay tuned as we continue to cover the unfolding events."

 **Battlestar Galactica**

 **Caprica Orbit**

Sarah couldn't just stay at home. It just wasn't the same without Tim. Nothing was the same. And that was what bothered her the most. The house they had shared was no longer a home but just some place to keep her belongings. It was in space that she found the most comfort. Being among her shipmates was the only place she felt she could work things out. In times of trouble, it was her home and her refuge.

Given the scuttlebutt that had circulated through the ship, it took a few days to 'persuade' some of the more enthusiastic pilots to stop fawning over her. Whether it was the other's nursing black eyes, or Sarah seeking help for bruised knuckles, word eventually came down that she was to be left alone. To Sarah's relief, life quickly returned to some tolerable level of normal.

That is until the announcement of the Earth ship's arrival.

All available Vipers and Raptors had been quickly pressed into crowd control duty. It was not turning out to be the easy task the pilots had thought it would be. Everyone seemed to think that they should be entitled to the best 'seat' in the house to watch the Thirteener's return. What made it worse was that the area cordoned off was much larger than usual. So, as one private ship was herded back into position, two more would jump the boundaries in search of a better view point.

"Gods-damned Newsies!," she muttered. "When will they stay where they're told to?"

"What?," came a reply over the private military airwaves. "They haven't responded to your god's given charm yet?"

"Starbuck!," growled a very ugly Sarah, "I've been told to hold off dispensing reminders to everyone. But in your case, I'm starting to think I could make an exception."

"Take it easy there, 'Athena,'" came the defensive response. "This crap is trying for all of us out here. At least the other side of your family is finally showing up. Who knows, maybe Tim will finally make an appearance."

"Don't remind me. I'm still not sure these days if I want to shoot him or salute him," 'Athena' growled.

"Ooooh, girl! With an attitude like that, I'm just hoping you'll be selling tickets to the main event. Knowing you, there might be a couple of moves I could use on Zak if he ever gets out of line."

Whatever response Sarah was about to give was interrupted as the main frequency to all ships crackled to life.

"Attention all craft. This is the five-minute warning to clear the no-fly zone. Visitors and escort are expected to arrive at any time."

"Hey, Racetrack," piped up 'Kat.' Any idea what we're to expect? Sparkles, showers of stars, the blessings of the lord's poured out on the people? Anything like that?"

"No," came the response, "but I've been told you'll know it when you see it." There was a pause, as the sound of controls being manipulated came over the airwaves. "Wait a moment. I've got an energy spike. I think something's coming in."

Moments later a nearby flash of light revealed the familiar form of the Charybdis, her id signal sounding out loud and clear over the IFF receivers.

"Come on, Racetrack," moaned Kat. "Even I would have recognized the jump signature of one of our ships."

"But that wasn't it," replied a quiet Racetrack. "And if I'm reading this right, the energy spike is still building."

"What the frak is that!," came a cry over the wireless.

20,000 to 30,000 kilometers behind the Charybdis, something new formed in the darkness of space. A glowing, swirling cloud began to blossom near the far end of the no-fly zone startling some of the nearby ships.

"Holy Mother Hera," some quaking soul muttered over the wireless.

The cloud grew to almost five battlestars wide when a bright flash erupted from its depths, spitting out the visitor. The unknown ship coasted forward trailing gossamer threads of exotic matter from the tips of its hull, while in the background the cloud quickly faded into the blackness of space. With the grace and maneuverability expected from a much smaller ship, the newcomer banked and began coasting up to a position alongside the Charybdis.

"Caprica Space Control, this is the Tau'ri War Carrier Kaga," the airwaves crackled. "We are advising you that we are taking up a parallel course and position to the Charybdis, as previously instructed."

"Kaga, Caprica Space Control. We acknowledge. Welcome to Caprican space."

 **Bridge**

 **War Carrier Kaga**

 **Caprica Orbit**

A soft whistle passed through Simpson's lips as he gazed on the tactical display.

"God, that is a lot of ships out there. A hell of a lot more than what we had battling the monster Cylon space station. I'm almost betting you could go for a walk and always have something to step on."

He paused for a moment while he took a long look at the sight before him.

"Mr. Green, please have the single squadron of Reapers launched for CAP duty. Include the two Jumpers. I don't want to give the impression that we are being overwhelmed by their display. All communications is to be done over subspace frequencies until otherwise cleared. Let's not let them find out too much too soon, okay?"

Richard Woolsey shook his head as he gave Simpson a long-suffering stare.

"Admiral Simpson," he commented, "may I remind you that this is a diplomatic mission. There is no need for the rattling of swords on our part. I just don't want to give any reason to start a fight we would most likely lose."

"True, Mr. Woolsey, but please remember that this is all Colonial Standard practice. While I might be launching less than what they would expect, this is the same procedure the Colonials would follow if the roles were reversed. What I'm concerned with is the potential fallout when Dr. Jackson takes the stage."

Daniel stopped for a moment, a stunned look slowly spreading on his face. "I'm really not that bad," he retorted.

Simpson, grinning right back at him, raised an eyebrow.

"Am I?," Daniel questioned quietly.

"Not really Dr. Jackson. Most of the time it depends on how they take to having their history and beliefs being turned upside down. The Colonials are a proud people, ones with which you will need to tiptoe carefully through the negotiations. There are still some findings I haven't been able to report to you, and they ultimately may have some bearing on how things work out with your negotiations.

 **CIC**

 **Battlestar Atlantia**

 **Caprica Orbit**

"So people, what can you tell me about that ship?"

"Not much so far, Admiral. It's just under the size of a Mercury class Battlestar. It has the maneuverability of a destroyer or frigate. And it arrived using a form of FTL that no one has yet been able to identify."

"Is there any reason that sensors can't come up with more than that?"

"We're not sure. Something is playing havoc with the sensor returns in a way that prevents us from getting a lock or any definitive reading. The only thing we're pretty sure is that the power they're using to run this thing is far more than the maximum output of two or more Zeus class Battlestars."

"And we let the gods-damned thing into orbit. Oh Zeus!," Nagala muttered, running a hand through his rapidly thinning hair. "So nothing more that we knew an hour ago?"

Yes, Sir," came the disgruntled reply.

"Anything about the fighters?"

"Small, maneuverable, and with their dark color pattern, damned hard to follow visually. Any actual details will have to be gleaned from any gun camera footage from someone that was lucky enough to have been nearby. Their version of a Raptor is something else. Greenish in color, it's basically a flying tube with visibility to the front only. For a moment it seemed that something like 'Wings' opened up on the sides as they moved into position above and below the ship, but other than that, nothing."

"Has there been any communications from either the fighters or the ship?"

"Other than the chatter between space control and the Kaga, nothing that we've been able to detect."

Scrubbing his face with both hands, Admiral Nagala took a moment to control his breathing and thoughts. Nothing made sense here. They seemed to be civilized enough, just wanting to make contact with the Colonies. But, in his eyes, to be hiding so much and apparently in plain sight was simply unnerving.

"Alright then. Any thoughts or assumptions on what we might have here? Come on, people! I'd rather have educated guesswork here rather than nothing at all."

"Admiral..."

"Dr. Baltar now is the time for you and your 'eggheads' to get off your well-paid backsides and contribute. The tacticians around here can't offer what they don't know. This is the point where you step in."

"If you insist. Initially, the overall design of it is too similar to our battlestars to be a coincidence. While we now have a contoured body with retractable flight pods, this newcomer is blocky and fixed. More of a modular design. It's very similar in style to what we produced earlier in ship development only a lot lighter. If I hadn't seen the battle footage from the Pegasus, I'd swear that ship wouldn't last a minute in a pitched battle."

"When the fighters and 'Raptor's,'" Baltar air-quoted, "were launched, I overheard Raptor 451 comment about a glow or sparkly effect as the Earther's craft left the end of the flight pod. This made me wonder. And later on, when another Raptor commented they saw figures moving about in the flight pod itself, it confirmed a hunch I started to have; energy shields. I don't know how they've accomplished it, or are generating the power to run it, but it all fits."

"And 'Kaga'?," prompted Nagala.

"No idea," responded a nearby linguist. "I can find no resemblance to any language we have from the name alone. All I can figure is that it is a possible a play on Colonel Simpson's call sign. Other than that, I have no idea."

"That's just stellar, everyone," moaned the beleaguered admiral. "Just frakkin' stellar."

"Kaga, this is Caprican Space Control. The Colonial Leadership is ready to receive your delegation. Have your shuttle fly to 30 km ahead of the Kaga where two Vipers will be ready to escort it to it's destination."

Copy that, Control. Jumper 209 will be departing in 10 minutes."

"Sorry. 'Jumper'?"

"Just something we've come to call them, Control."

"Un.. understood, Kaga. Viper escort will be waiting. Control out."

"Kat, are you able to pick up the Earther's shuttle yet?"

"It's just leaving the port flight pod now, Starbuck. Mind you…," she paused for a moment, "I'm getting possible sensor ghosts coming along with it."

"Probably those fighters of theirs," muttered Starbuck. "Keep cool and don't let them rattle you, Kat. We'll show them what it means to be professional."

With gun cameras trained on the 'Jumper' craft recording what details they could, the two Vipers calmly held their positions waiting to escort the Earthers to the meeting. The sensor 'ghosts' continued to be a growing concern as the mark one eyeball couldn't quite pick them out from the blackness of space. Where ever they were, Starbuck knew they could become a significant problem.

As the Jumper crossed the 30 km boundary, the two Vipers smoothly slid into place on either side.

"Jumper 209, this is Colonial Flight. We're here to escort you planetside."

"Colonial Flight, Jumper 209 copies. Must mean you're off the hook, Kage."

"Yeah, I heard Maverick. It sounds like you've got the Colony's finest leading you down."

Starbuck started for a moment, looking closer at the Earther's shuttle. "Tim? Is that you in there?"

"Nope. High and a little right of your six o'clock."

"Crap!," growled Starbuck, as she cranked her neck around to see. "I'm guessing that's another 'kill' for you, then?"

"Naw. You didn't know I was here. Maybe next time."

"Aw, how gracious of you, Kage," she snarked. "You gonna come down to see the family?"

"It all depends oncity," he replied quietly.

"On…?"

"Permission and if there's a family to go down to…," there was a sudden cough as the voice returned to a business like demeanour. "Colonial Flight, you'd better get going. There's unnecessary ears listening in, and I, for one, don't want to be the reason you caught crap from Tigh or the 'old man'. Hopefully we can talk later. And since you were kind enough to provide the drinks the first time we met, the next round is on me."

"I'm holding you to it, Kage. Colonial Flight, out."

As the trio of shadowing Reapers banked away to fade into the darkness of space, the Jumper and two Vipers began their descent to the planet below. Easing their way through the buffeting turbulence of re-entry, the three craft wended their way to the Fleet base outside of the planets new capital city. It was a sobering moment for the Jumper's occupants as they passed over the rubble that was CaprCity, What once boasted gleaming towers reaching to the sky, was now a grim reminder of losses for both the planet's population and SG-13's own team mates during the recent war.

Approaching the base, they could clearly see the landing site marked out with flags and red carpet. Neatly lining up with the end of the carpet, the jumper pilot began preparations for landing. Killing most of its forward speed, the Jumper slowed down as the drive pods were lowered and 'wings' retracted back into the hull. Reaching its destination, the Jumper did a smart about turn and quietly lowered itself to the tarmac. Moments later, to the Colonial's surprise, the rear hatch unlocked and levered itself to the ground.

Peering out the rear of the Jumper, security could see that things had been set up for a simplified State Visit. A red carpet ran the distance to a stretch ground vehicle. Pennants on standards alternated with Colonial soldiers, weapons shouldered, for the length of the carpet. Near the Jumper a Colonial Admiral and another individual in flowing robes waited patiently.

After taking a moment to straighten themselves out, and ensure the Asgard translation stones were in place, Woolsey and Jackson stood from their seats to emerge from the Jumper. Walking down the carpet, the Admiral came forward to greet them.

"Gentlemen, it's a pleasure to have you here. I am Admiral Nagala, Head of the Colonial Fleet, and this is Elosha, our spiritual representative for the 12 Lords of Kobol."

"It's a pleasure to be here Admiral. I am Richard Woolsey, Representative for the United Earth Government, and this is Dr. Daniel Jackson, a cultural specialist, and linguist."

Appearing a little puzzled, the Admiral attempted to peer deeper into the Jumper. "Mr. Woolsey, is this your entire party?"

"Yes?," came the concerned response. "Is there a problem?"

"No, not really. It's just that we had assumed there would be more." Turning, Nagala gestured to the ground vehicle. "But if this is everyone, would the two of you care to join us? The President is waiting at a secure location to continue the dialogue."

"Colonel Green, I have a hail from the ship calling itself the Pegasus."

"Alright, Mr. Ferguson," muttered the Colonel. "Keep the translation program in place and direct it to the command chair. I'll take it there."

"Aye, sir. Transferring now."

Punching a button on the control arm, Green responded.

"Pegasus, this is Colonel Green of the Kaga. What can I do for you?"

"Colonel Green, this is Admiral Cain, Pegasus Actual. I just wanted to welcome you and your crew to our humble system."

"Why thank you, Admiral. We took a long gaze at your fair world as we arrived. It reminded me a lot of my home world."

"It took you awhile to get here, Colonel?"

"Not really. We had 3 or 4 other destinations we had to survey on our way here. Of them all, yours is the closest to what we know as home."

"That's nice to hear. Are you Kaga Actual, and if not, could I please speak to Kaga Actual?"

"I'm sorry, Admiral Cain, but I am just the humble XO. The Admiral is off the bridge at the moment tending to several duties. I do apologize for his absence, but I can advise him that you inquired about him when he returns?"

"I would appreciate that. Thank you. Pegasus out."

 **Presidential Retreat**

 **Pan's Wilderness Preserve**

 **Caprica**

Almost ignoring the ongoing banter between Dr. Jackson and the Colonial representatives, Woolsey quietly gazed at the changing scenery; from the welcoming throngs of people to the quieter pastoral views of the surrounding countryside. Many was the time where he had wondered what it was like to take that ride, to see the different sights. 'The more things change, the more they stay the same,' Woolsey chuckled to himself.

The retreat was strangely similar to the Camp David retreat of rural Maryland back home. The vehicle began to slow as it approached the front of an almost rustic building, sitting in a clearing surrounded by dense growth of ancient forest. Paths could be seen radiating out in all directions from the structure, lined by fully mature deciduous trees, their long slender branches arched up and over to give each path a solemn cathedral-like feel.

As an aide opened the door to the parked vehicle, an energetic Adar was there warmly welcoming the two into the building.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen. Please come in," he gestured, directing the party to the central meeting room. "It's been a while in the making, but finally all of the tribes of man are finally drawing back together again. I see that you've become acquainted with Admiral Nagala, and Priestess Elosha. I am Richard Adar, President of the 12 Colonies, and beside me is Senator Carolanne Adama."

"Adama," mused Daniel, as everyone took their seats. "You wouldn't be related to an Admiral Adama by any chance, would you?"

"My husband. Why? Did Tim, that flighty son-in-law of mine, have anything to say about us?"

"Only nice things, I can assure you," Woolsey responded with a frown.

"Yeah, I bet! If that man had any lick of sense he would have gotten himself back here to support his wife and do his duty to the Fleet. But no. The first chance he gets, he runs for home. Gods, I get it. We all suffered in one way or another due to that damnable war, but that's no reason for the child to run and hide."

"Senator Adama, I think there's a bit more to it than you realize," Dr. Jackson firmly responded. Turning to Adar, he asked, "Did she see the information package we left you?"

"Yes, she did," came the reply. "The non-technical contents and video clips were made public a month after we received them."

"Admiral Nagala, can I safely assume that any reasonable order lawfully given in the Colonial service is expected to be fulfilled, regardless of the circumstances?"

"Without question."

Turning back to the senator, Daniel continued.

"So, based on that information, Timothy Simpson was placed in an impossible position. He had lost his original family in our infamous 'Rain of Death' where many millions of perished. Later he looses people he had grown very closes to, effectively what had become his surrogate family, defending your worlds. And now, because he had to respond to a lawfully given order by a superior, he's likely to lose a third. Don't you think you could have a little compassion for him?"

"Well, why couldn't he have just stayed and been happy here?"

"Because," interrupted Woolsey, "like you, we are still rebuilding. We need all the experienced people we could find to help. In Tim's case, he had inadvertently gained space combat experience. Something you have obviously noticed. It is only at the suggestion made by a race friendly to our world that we are making formal contact with you."

"And by the grace of the Lords of Kobol, this means that the lost tribe will have returned," intoned Elosha. "And once you embrace what your heritage is, Mankind will be whole again. We will help you rebuild what you have lost, and together we can bask in the glory of the Lord's blessing together."

Seeing the concern forming in Woolsey's face, Adar was quick to jump in.

"Of course if you've been out of touch with the faith, we can provide priests to guide you while we prepare the ancient ceremonies of reconciliation."

There was a pause while Richard Woolsey collected his thoughts. He knew there might be some difficulties, but things were starting to get way out of hand.

"Mr. President, I think there has been a misunderstanding here."

"What misunderstandings, Mr. Woolsey? It's a time to rejoice. The tribes of Man will be together once again."

"Mr. President, we didn't come here to join with you. We came to see if we could arrange the beginnings of an alliance between your 12 Colonies and our planet Earth."

"But you're human," sputtered Senator Adama. "You're human, and you're from Earth! What confusion could there be?"

"If it's a question of how our mutual military forces would fit together," Nagala offered, "I can assure you we can find a way of honoring the existing rank structure. With the technology you have to offer, we can ensure peace throughout the galaxy, as the Lords say we should."

Woolsey looked on, his mouth open as he tried to find a diplomatic way to ease the Colonials down. The comments of disdain and disbelief continued to build in number and volume, as idea after idea came to mind only to be shot down as unusable. In a moment of mild panic, he glanced over to Daniel for any sort of help. With a quick whistle, Daniel broke through the growing cacophony.

"Ladies, gentlemen, I believe what Mr. Woolsey is trying to say is that while you think that we are the people from your culture's past, I can confirm we are not."

The resulting silence was deafening.

"You're not from the Earth of the Thirteenth Tribe?," whispered Elosha.

"I'm sorry, but no," offered Woolsey. "As part of the mission to get us here, the Admiral was tasked to survey three other star systems. It was during the surveying of one system. We came across a world that we believe to be your 'Earth.'"

"Is it possible that you could give us the coordinates so that we might contact this Earth?," Adar quietly asked. "To see if this is the world of our lost cousins?"

"Certainly. I'll have the Kaga transmit the coordinates once we return. But I must warn you. It's not likely you will get any response. There was clear evidence that the planet had suffered a major conflict several centuries in the past where nuclear weapons had been used. Radiation levels are presently low enough on most of the planet's surface to allow short visits, but it won't be fit for habitation for many years to come."

"My gods," whispered a stunned Nagala. "And all this time, we'd been hoping, ..praying, ... Are you sure they were Colonial?"

"Regretfully, yes. The teams we sent down for short searches reported finding technology similar to yours. Decidedly different versions maybe, but clearly similar."

Jackson and Woolsey looked at the silent Colonials with sympathy. Daniel, for one, could appreciate the feeling of loss. He thought back, remembering the feeling that came from the loss of Tollana and Narim's last message.

"Even though you claim not to have Colonial history, are you sure that you won't join and become one with us," offered President Adar. "With our strength and your technology, we could protect the galaxy, as the Lords had willed we should."

"I'm sorry, Mr. President, but no," Woolsey gently replied. "May I suggest that Dr. Jackson and myself return to the Kaga to give you some time to think about what we've said. Later, we can reconvene and continue at a later time."

"For now, I agree. But," he continued, "to share views into each other's culture, is there a chance that we could continue the talks aboard your ship?"

"I will have to confirm that with the Admiral, but I don't see that as a problem."

"Very well, Mr. Woolsey. Please forgive my rudeness, but it seems there is much for us to think on. One of my aides will escort you to the transport outside. It will return you to your 'Jumper.'"

"Thank you, Mr. President. Until later."

It was a full 30 minutes later before any motion took place in the retreat. As if in a daze, Adar made his way to a table at the side of the conference room. Selecting a tall glass among the many there, he proceeded to pour a healthy amount from a very dusty bottle. It was only after half emptying the glass that he remembered the others presence in the room. Refilling his glass, and three others like it, he made his way around the room before retaking his seat.

"So," came the soft quiet prompt.

"Yeah. So," responded Nagala.

"I imagined there would be differences, difficulties, possible conflicts of faith, but…," began Elosha.

"But what?," questioned Nagala.

"I didn't think that the crisis would be mine!," she cried out. "The Tau'ri delegation was nothing like what I was hoping to see. Instead of fellow humans looking forward to rejoining the family under the Lords, we have these 'people' wanting to arrange treaties; as if there was no more to the galaxy than agreements and alliances rather than the union the Lords would have us enjoy."

"No offense meant Priestess," commented Nagala, "but during their debrief, Admiral Adama broached a similar thought. He observed that the ships of these 'Tau'ri' were more powerful than even what we'd been able to develop so far. He couldn't help but wonder what sorts of threats they could have encountered that would have forced them to need such technology."

"Personally, I agree we can't take all of this at face value. There is too much that borders on the realm of the fantastic about what these people claim. I, for one, want to see the evidence about the Thirteenth tribe's demise. For all we know, that world is dead at these people's hands. But if what they claim is true, I am just as confused as to why they won't throw in with us and have all humans benefit from their technological improvements. It just feels like a great contradiction between what they say and what they're willing to do."

"Interesting," opined Adar. "Senator, do you have any insight to offer?"

Carolanne Adama studied her glass, her thoughts just as muddled and mixed as it's contents. The others waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts.

"I'm not sure how usable some of my thoughts are going to be, biased as they might be. Admittedly, I was out of line with Dr. Jackson. But what mother wouldn't when faced with a potential threat to her daughter's happiness. Just the same, as the good admiral stated, if the information is correct, and I am beginning to believe it is, then this paints a much different picture of the galaxy than what we might have originally assumed or have been told. No disrespect meant, Priestess."

"Just the same, I still feel there is more to the story that what they're letting on. I don't know if it was intended to be kind, but all I know is that there was hesitation in both of their voices when they spoke of this 'Earth.' With any luck, this visit to the Kaga will be approved. And maybe, just maybe, we finally pin them down and get some answers for a change."

"Are you sure that is what you want, Senator?" queried the priestess. "There is the Legend of Pandora, where when opening the vessel given to her by the gods, she loosed all sorts of curses upon mankind. These curses were never to be re-bottled again. Who is to say that might not be the case here. As conflicted as I am, I know that the best we can do is approach this cautiously, lest we inflict the same disasters upon ourselves."

"Thank you for that thoughtful insight, Elosha," murmured Adar. "There is much here that we still do not understand, and much that the Tau'ri are not saying. I am hoping that during these future meetings the answers will be more forthcoming, but not at the cost of what it means to be of the 12 Tribes of Man."

"So say we all," assented Nagala.

 **Port Flight Deck**

 **War Carrier Kaga**

 **Caprica Orbit**

Admiral Simpson watched as the two men slowly made their way down the Jumper's boarding ramp. The men's fatigue was clearly showing on their faces.

"Rough meeting?," he quipped grinning, as he led the two to his ready room.

"More than you'd like to know," groaned Dr. Jackson.

"Hey. My team lived here for a number of years. I have a good idea of what they're like."

"Yes, Admiral, you did warn us," responded Woolsey, hands in mock surrender. "Unfortunately they now know of their 'Earth.' It was only because they insisted we were their lost tribe that we felt that we had to inform them."

"And that went over…,"

"Not well," admitted Daniel. "But I have to give them points for stubbornness. Even while realizing their loss, they still kept on insisting that we should join with them."

"And I figure it's been that stubbornness that has kept them going," admitted Simpson, "in the face of many challenges and obstacles."

Pulling a dusty bottle from a side cabinet, Simpson poured a quick measure for the three of them. Eyeing the glass gingerly, Woolsey took a hesitant sip.

"Not bad," he admitted. "Can I assume this came from the Colonies?

"Yes, but I'm not revealing where I've stashed the rest. If word ever got out, I'd image the whole crew would be expecting a round on me."

"I thought so. The bottle looks similar to one in the conference room. We never had a chance for refreshments. The conversation became rather stormy, almost from the get-go."

"I can only imagine."

"There was a formal request from the President."

"Oh?"

"He's asking that the next round of talks take place here, on the Kaga."

"Partly to see if I'm here and partly to see what we have to work with, I suppose," Simpson commented thoughtfully. "And they still have no idea of my rank?"

"Not that we know of," said Daniel. "Do you know how much longer will we need to keep this up?"

"We all know that this is to be an alliance of worlds. The military should have no influence in it, regardless of what the Colonials believe." Simpson took a thoughtful sip of his drink before continuing. "I know it will come out eventually. Let's just wait and see when that will be."

"If your mother-in-law is included on the list of visiting dignitaries, it could be sooner than you think," pointed out Woolsey. "If it wasn't for a bit of deflection on Daniel's part, she was almost ready to crucify you for cowardice."

"I can believe it," muttered Simpson. "Mind you, considering the circumstances, can you blame her. To have a son-in-law, her daughter's seeming answer from the gods, rabbit at the first opportunity to go home? How would you feel?," he pondered quietly. "I think it's time for you to get some rest, gents. I'll arrange to have the visiting VIP's up here in two days time. I can only hope that by then you will be ready to face them."

 **Port Flight Pod**

 **Battlestar Pegasus**

 **Caprica Orbit**

"Mr. President, I cannot protest enough about you visiting that war ship. You being on the Pegasus, this close is already too much of a risk. To board that ship, in my opinion, is simply unacceptable. Isn't there someone else that can take your place, sir?"

"As much as I would like to agree with you, Nicola, this is one of those times when the risks must be taken. I began these talks, I mean to see them through to the end. I know this goes totally against everything you've been trained for, but this is history in the making. For good or for ill, I'm going to be a part of it and not sit on the sidelines."

"Mr. President?," interrupted Nagala, some gear in hand.

"Yes?"

"The Tau'ri sent over some items for the visiting members to wear while in the flight pod."

"What, new specialized space suits they're testing out?"

"No, sir. White vests and hearing protection" responded a confused admiral.

"They're expecting us to just disembark in the flight bay itself? In open vacuum?"

"I don't know, sir. The message that came with the gear said that they had promised every protection to the visiting dignitaries and that this was a part of it."

Adar shot a withering stare at Agent Krystos, just daring her to stop him.

"You know my opinions, Mr. President. Consider my acceptance of your continuing actions only under EXTREME protest."

"Duly noted, Agent Krystos. Are the others ready to go, Admiral?"

"Outfitted and boarding the transport as we speak. We're just waiting on you, sir."

"Okay then. Let's not keep history waiting, shall we?"

"LSO to Admiral Simpson."

"Simpson here, LSO. What's the word?"

"The Colonials are on their way, sir. They're coming over in something they call a "Gemini Traveller." No specs were included in the transmission, but what they did send was a revised visitor list. The number of people has been doubled with some substitutions. If my information is correct, they should be on final approach in 15 minutes."

"LSO, for reference sake the Gemini Traveller is roughly the same tonnage as an Al'kesh bomber but designed to operate outside of the atmosphere. Best thinking is to treat it like a space-bound C-130 Hercules with the same level of technology for motion compensation."

"So low and slow, keeping the tractor beam ready to assist them in the bay, sir?"

"Exactly."

"LSO copies, Admiral." There was a pause. "Colonial transport is now 10 minutes out."

"Oh, crap."

"Problems, sir?," piped up Colonel Green. A concerned Jackson and Woolsey looked on intently.

"Nothing a deep rabbit hole wouldn't fix. It seems a few more people wanted to crash the party. Instead of a Jumper worth of people coming to visit, we have an Al'Kesh transport worth showing up. Mr. Green, do we have spare personnel to hand hold and secure the extra visitors?"

"I'll find out as quick as I can, and if not I will pull people from other duties to cover the extra visitors. Did we send enough equipment over?"

"Apparently. Get a rush on the extra people. The transport is nine minutes out and closing."

"Admiral," Mr. Woolsey piped up, "shouldn't both you and Colonel Green be dressed up to receive our guests?"

"Mr. Woolsey," Simpson replied soberly, "I'm still needed to assist the CAG with training the pilots. Some should be able to hold their own against the Wraith, but the rest of them are still a work in progress. At the same time, Colonel Green is needed to stand a command watch. As I was instructed neither of us should be present during these meetings. We will be available if something comes up, but in an advisory role only."

"I understand. Still, don't you think it polite to stay and greet our guests before returning to duty?"

"Of course. What sort of a host would I be if I acted otherwise, Mr. Woolsey," Simpson grinned in return.

Karl "Helo" Agathon had Colonial 115 stationary and off to the 'out' side of the Kaga's Port flight pod. He'd been Adama's first choice as pilot primarily for his eye for detail, and also for his ability to keep calm in stressful situations. He'd been a Raptor driver for most of his career, having learned to deal with pretty much anything that came his way. That is until now.

The sight of the various Tau'ri fighters 'screaming' into the pod had him just a little unnerved. He was beginning to assume that his upcoming task was to merge with those self-same fighters, avoid the sides of the pod, and stop in a very short amount of space. This would have been slightly feasible in his Raptor, but the transport he was flying now was a whale in comparison. There was no way in Hades it was going to be possible.

"Colonial 115, Kaga LSO. You can begin your approach now. All other traffic has been halted until you've been tucked away. Please descend 200 metres and approach at 15 m/s parallel to the approach lights. Please be prepared to idle your engines as you cross the outer boundary. Do you copy?"

"Copy LSO," Helo replied, breathing a sigh of relief. "I thought our pilots were crazy at times. Yours make them look tame in comparison."

"Copy that 115. I gather that's a mentality issue, regardless the society they come from," came the chuckled response.

After advising his passengers, Helo began with the usual approach. Lining up on the bay, he trimmed his attitude and lowered the landing gear for imminent landing. As he crossed the outer edge of the pod he noticed a play of light across the viewing port and a bit of a jerk as his forward speed dropped slightly. Almost immediately the control display lit up with all sorts of warnings, even some Helo had only seen in flight school. A startled collection of cries came from the passenger compartment as the transport shimmied and shook.

'This can't be happening,' he thought to himself as instinct took over. Hands danced over the control panel as he followed his training, trying to avoid disaster.

"Colonial 115, this is Kaga LSO," a voice came calling over the headset. "Cut your engines. I repeat, CUT YOUR ENGINES! Do you copy?"

"I'm trying to avoid a crash here, LSO," Helo gave in panicked reply.

"You won't. Trust me."

"Trust you?," was his skeptic response.

"Yeah. And when we get you down, I'll be the first to buy you a round in the mess."

"Okay, LSO. Colonial 115 copies. This disaster is now in your hands. Powering down engines, now."

Very quickly the rocky ride that had begun at the pod's entrance changed to a smooth sailing to a lit pad half way down the pod's length. Beginning to trust the LSO's instructions, Helo began his shutdown checklist as the transport seemed to be magically moved to its destination. He kept the RCS system live however, just in case.

The transport was just touching down when Admiral Adama squeezed through the compartment door, just in time to witness Helo complete his checklist. The older man watched quietly as the pilot scrubbed his face with his hands, while looking up to offer a prayer of thanks. The Admiral chuckled quietly, as Helo's head snapped around.

"Admiral, you startled me. Is Everyone okay back there?"

"A little shaken up, but none the worse for wear. What happened?"

"The gods only know, sir. We were on a normal approach when I noticed the transport suddenly slow down. Trying to compensate, I ended up with a whole slew of warnings, including a couple I've only seen during advanced disaster training."

"But you were able to work it out, right?"

"No, sir. Kaga LSO advised me to cut the engines. From there, they did all the flying. Sir? Is everything okay?"

Adama had become still, a look of shock forming on his face.

"Is that man standing out in front of the transport? Without an EVA suit?"

Before Helo could respond, a solid knock resonated from the ship's boarding hatch. Elosha looked on in fright, backing up to the seat furthest away. The rest of the passengers looked on in disbelief.

"LSO, Colonial 115. What in Hades is going on?"

"Sorry to scare you like that 115. We don't have an elevator large enough to bring you down. Instead, we thought you'd like a first hand view of the flight deck. It can be quite impressive. There is a boarding ladder in place to help you down."

"You mean there's air out there?!"

"Sure. I thought you knew by now? Don't you have equipment to check pressure balance? Take your time to confirm it. When you're ready to come out, ensure all passengers have a white vest and hearing protection. It can get noisy at times."

In a daze, Helo made his way to the primary airlock. It was only after he had operated and checked the results of the comparator twice did he begin to believe his eyes. There really was an atmosphere out there. Against the concerns of the other passengers, he slowly activated the locking mechanism.

As the hatch began to crack open, the cacophony of noise rolled into the passenger cabin like an ocean wave, immersing them in one great splash. Squeals of overworked tires vied with the whine of slowing engines, while in the distance multiple thundering booms occasionally punctuated through. Ensuring that vests and headphones were in place, a blue shirted deckhand, outside the hatch, used hand gestures to direct them to climb down the ladder. With much trepidation, mostly from the civilians, the party cautiously made their way down the ladder to find themselves in front row seats to seeming chaos.

Framed between the pod's wall and their own transport's thrusters was a scene of bedlam where a rainbow of coloured individuals raced haphazardly over the open deck. Here were red people handling what looked like armaments, there were blues, under the direction of a few yellows, using deck vehicles to manhandle fighters onto lowering elevators. From time to time a fighter would 'scream' into the pod, accompanied by the thundering booms, only to stop still only hundreds of metres downrange. To the civilians it was scary, but to the military it was oddly comforting.

After allowing them a few minutes to absorb the activities, their blue guide began directing them to a nearby hatch.

"I would like to welcome you to the Kaga," a familiar voice offered, as the Colonials finished removing their vests and headgear. "I'm sorry that the landing was a bit of a harrowing experience..."

"Harrowing? Try frightening," Senator Adama retorted, as the outside hatch was dogged shut, "or is being jostled about your idea of setting the mood for negotiations, Mr. Simpson?"

Sarah's head jerked around to see. It was her Tim, but not as she remembered him. Gone were the double breasted Grey's she'd seen him wearing on duty, but in their place was a tan coverall with a drab green over-piece, festooned with unit crests and some sort of identity tag on the upper left chest. This clearly was something more of a functional outfit rather than a dress uniform in which he should have worn to greet them.

"Senator Adama, No, that was not the intention. Not at all. There were misunderstandings and miscommunication on both sides which clearly resulted in a little roughness with your arrival. We're sorry that you had to go through it."

Mr. Woolsey quickly intruded, hand up to forestall the irate Senator.

"Since I can understand that your 'rocky' arrival may have unsettled you, it was decided that you would be offered a chance to recover from your ordeal before formal talks resumed. As such, quarters have been set aside for you and your party to rest and accustom yourselves with us and this ship."

"That is greatly appreciated, Mr. Woolsey," offered Adar. "I'm hoping that will include access to Mr. Simpson here? Reading and seeing something is one thing, but to have a personal guide would be invaluable to our understanding."

"I will do everything I can to be available to you, Sir. But in the long run it will depend on how much time I can free up from my other duties," Simpson replied firmly.

"Your duties?," snarked the Senator. "Your duties, first and foremost, should have been to the Colonies and your wife! Or was that not so important once you were able to get home?"

"Madame Senator. If you would.."

"Just as I thought," she snapped. "Hiding behind protocol and rhetoric. I should have seen that coming."

Simpson's face went neutral as his hands clenched in quiet frustration. He had hoped for some chance to explain his side of the story, but it seemed that for now it was not to be.

"For the most part," Simpson offered through clenched teeth, "I would like to say it is good to see everyone once again. Mr. President. Admirals. Sarah." A glance at the other members of the delegation showed similar signs of concern and betrayal, but the most heart wrenching was Sarah.

"And with that," he quietly spoke, his heart heavy with pain, "I must leave you. I've been delegated the task of confirming the details of Colonial 115's rough arrival. If you will all excuse me, I need to speak with the LSO, before he goes off shift. Please check with your escorts to arrange time with me."

Brusquely grabbing a well used helmet and flight bag off a hook on the nearby wall, Simpson trudged out.

Looking quietly at the closing hatch, Admiral Cain queried,"What exactly are Mr. Simpson's duties aboard the Kaga?"

"The same thing he did here in the Colonies. Looking after his people, Admiral," Daniel replied softly. "Looking after his people."

Tim wearily plodded to his quarters. Today's session, while exhausting, was one for the books. Finally after all the hard work, the tactics were now firmly sinking in. This crop of pilots were now grasping the difference between atmosphere and space combat, and in a couple of instances surprised even Tim. This didn't make them veterans by any stretch of the imagination, but with ongoing practice and patrols they would be well on their way.

The small smile that had graced his face faded to a frown as he noted the marine sergeant standing outside his office door. Knowing there were very few reasons why he'd be there, Simpson strode right on up to find out.

"Sergeant, it's a little strange for you to be standing out here," Simpson joked, offering a salute to the Non-com. "Please don't tell me you're on report again."

"No, sir," replied the Sergeant. "It's one of the Colonial delegates. She insisted on seeing you privately. Claims that she's your wife, sir. The best I could figure was to have her wait for you in your office."

"Is she a young Colonial Captain?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"For her alone, I agree that you did the right thing."

Closing his eyes, Tim slowly let out a deep breath to calm his nerves and collect his thoughts. This was going to be unpleasant, but it was something he had to face.

"Sergeant, in a moment, I am going into that room. The door will be closed but not shut. I want you to stand guard and keep an ear open to what happens inside. I guarantee that things are going to get noisy and quite possibly very messy. But if, and only if, it sounds like someone is being torn limb from limb are you to enter and attempt to end the conflict by any reasonable means. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir," replied the marine, grinning from ear to ear.

"And wipe that grin off your face, Sergeant, or I'll be selling tickets to the next time you and Lucy have a blow-out. I remember you describing how vindictive she can be!"

"Yes, sir," the marine replied, grinning all the more.

With a shake of the head, and one last deep sigh of resignation, Simpson entered.

From the moment she was let into the office she could tell it was his. But then again it wasn't. For some strange reason it had the same feel as when she got to see her father on the Galactica. Here and there were the various pictures and mementos that had gone missing when Tim had left. Many were in prominent locations on the walls while other special ones were close and personal on the desk that dominated the room. The rest of the room, as she could see, was a collection of pictures and documents from before her time with Tim. Here and there were pictures of Tim's team, during happier times, mixed with official looking documents announcing something she could not understand. The puzzle that was Tim Simpson kept growing by leaps and bounds.

From the moment that Sarah had been left alone in the office, it was as if she had made it her personal mission to find out everything she could about Tim. As far as she knew, couples weren't supposed to keep secrets from each other, right? And most anyone would readily agree that not being from the Colonies was a whopper of a secret. It was with that attitude that Sarah began nosing her way through the office, pulling drawers and poking into closets and cabinets. Nothing was sacred in her eyes. The day of reckoning had come and it was time for Tim to come clean.

It was an hour later that a familiar voice interrupted her search.

"You know, if it wasn't so good to see you, I could have you held for military espionage?"

Tim knew from the start that he wasn't dealing with any ordinary anger. Maybe it was the way Sarah took a moment to slowly rise from the Cupboard she had been searching. Or it could have been that while turning to face Tim, she crossed her arms over her chest. But what clinched it for Tim was the almost fiery stare that she gave him as she considered her response.

"Something tells me the same could be said for you, DEAR," came the frosty response.

"But that was something that I was forced into," Tim quietly offered, removing his duty jacket. "It's not like a draft gives you much of a choice."

"Oooohhh, nnnoooooo," she replied snarkily, "no choice what so ever. Just like you had to come here. Just like you had to spend time on our worlds. Just like you had to be at that bar. Just like you HAD TO BE WITH ME!," she screamed.

Tim clearly hear the anger in her voice building as he quietly hung up his jacket. It was only when her voice had attained the harpy-like shrillness that he turned to see what was going on.

SLAP!

For a moment it almost seemed as if Tim was viewing his own personalized map of the galaxy before Sarah's apoplectic face returned to his sight. Residual swirling stars punctuated the searing sting to the left side of his face. It was only as he moved to sooth the pain that he realized that Sarah was on the move again.

SLAP! SLAP!

Instantly the star map returned in all its sparkling glory. Tim could not remember when he had been in so much pain. He knew there was going to be some fallout with Sarah over his disappearance, but he never thought it would be this violent.

"I thought we meant something to each other, Tim," Sarah yelled, swinging at him again. "How could you just up and run off like that?! Do you know how much frakken Hades CI put me through?!" Tim barely dodged a well aimed backhand. "That was NOTHING to the crap the MEDIA put me through!"

Tim's office was steadily being reduced to a disaster area only because he had badly underestimated her ability to wage a personal war. Mementos of past friends as well as present day belongings were beginning to make mountainous piles of debris about the office. The only problem was that Sarah's fury showed no sign of abating.

"Sarah, would you… Ow, god damn it, Sarah! Can't you calm down for a minute? Can't we try to talk this out?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had made things go from bad to worse.

"Calm down. Calm Down?! I've gone through Hades for the past months, and YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN?!"

Sergeant Yamoto was a veteran of the USMC. He'd seen action in Somalia. He'd fought insurgents in Afghanistan. Hell, he'd even gone toe to toe with the Jaffa and Kull Warriors that Anubis had dropped on Earth during that last global assault. But the battle he was now overhearing in the Admiral's office was leaving him unsure.

Sure, he'd pissed his wife off from time to time. There was that one time he'd literally spent 2 months in the dog house when he'd left Lucy standing in the bedroom doorway for a surprise deployment of his unit. She'd gone out of her way to dress up in that sexy little outfit he had always loved, in hopes of a romantic evening together. It didn't help anything when the operation was given the stand down notice a couple of hours later. Even with all the begging and grovelling he'd done since, there were times she still swore he'd done it to get some time out with the boys.

But if the noise coming from the office was any indication, it was going to be amazing if any of the room's contents, or occupants for that matter, were still intact or even recoverable. Simply put, this had to be an argument for the record books. Even on his best days, the sergeant hadn't riled up his wife anywhere near to what the Admiral was having to deal with right now. Though it was hard to make out what was being said between the two of them, the anger she was expressing at the Admiral certainly was not.

And then came the scream.

Yamoto had heard all of the stories, the urban legends, and still that had not prepared him for what he was hearing now. Like other men he had heard of the saying, 'Hell hath no fury...', but it was only now that he understood. Somewhere in hell, there had to be a demon quaking in it's cloven hooves from the outrage the Colonial Captain was only now releasing.

Quickly stepping into the room, Sergeant Yamoto could tell that the battle was clearly a one sided affair. Admiral Simpson was only trying to protect himself from the Colonial Officer's assault. His raised arms were bloodied and bare, the shirt sleeves being shredded and dangling from the shoulders. Clearly the Admiral was on the defensive, just hoping to survive this encounter.

The Colonial Officer's transformation, Yamoto later swore, was straight out of the pages of mythology. It was as if 'Alecto', the Fury of Vengeance, had been sent by Hades himself to exact retribution on the poor Admiral. Gone was the pretty, confident Colonial Officer he'd escorted in earlier. In her place was a woman who's sole purpose was to get back at the one who she believed had wronged her. The wild-eyed grimace that was her face, haloed by unbridled hair, was blood spattered from the wounds inflicted by the talon like actions of her hands as she slashed again and again.

Several attempts to get through to the two proved to be futile. Shouting and pleading had no effect; simply no one was listening. Stepping between to separate the two combatants was to be sheer foolishness, as the blows the Captain were delivering would not have cared who they impacted on. Yamoto could only hope the Admiral would be lenient afterwards.

The click and whine of the Zat'nik'tel arming itself was but a small addition to the roiling din in the confined office space.

The tap of the shoes echoed the length of the conference room as Adar paced back and forth. He'd been doing this for well over the past hour or so, while, from time to time, his worried stare scrutinized the Tau'ri delegation's position at the other end of the table. As Elosha had commented earlier, these Tau'ri were something totally else.

Allowing each of the members to look into their own specialties, Adar had found this group of humans to be so unlike anything he had encountered before. Not really being religious, he still found himself falling back on earlier teachings when he came across something he didn't fully comprehend or didn't fit into his big view of things. With a couple of exceptions, those guidelines worked and were what made him what he was today; stable, successful, the type of leader the Colonies had needed during their recent time of crisis. But what he was learning about the Tau'ri was far outside anything he'd had to deal with before.

Adar paused for a moment, while looking at the Tau'ri as if for the first time, asked them, "Who ARE you people?!"

Dr. Jackson and Mr. Woolsey glanced at each other with a puzzled look. Woolsey responded with a slight shrug of his shoulders, "Humans. Just like you."

"Just like us? I don't think so. You are a young, newly emerging society that is only now feeling its way throughout the galaxy. Your own history points this out. Your pilots are only just becoming adjusted to dealing with space combat. Gods, this ship is so new I could still smell the paint on the walls!"

"I have to admit that the technology you've shown us so far is remarkable, in some areas bordering on the fantastic. In a couple of instances Dr. Baltar had to be bodily removed from some items before he did any irreparable damage trying to find out how they worked. But it still confirms in my mind, you are like small children unwilling to share your toys. You couldn't imagine how much good this technology could do for the rest of humankind. Just one of these ships could have changed the entire war!"

"Oh, I know, Mr. President," replied Woolsey. "I gather that Dr. Baltar has always reacted like that to something new?"

"Yes, yes," Adar responded impatiently. "But that is not the point here."

"Do you happen to recall what he said about what caught his attention?"

"All I could get out of him was that the principles you used to develop these things was so revolutionary as to be almost alien to what he understood. It was just his way of saying how impressed he was with how you could 'step out of the box' to make these grand toys."

"Oh, I get it now," interrupted Senator Adama. "You're looking for some praise for having done something really unique, is that it? A fulfillment of some need for approval?"

"No! That isn't it at all," exploded Daniel. "From the very first day we began to travel the stars, we've been battling to keep our planet safe. The road we have travelled has not always been the easiest nor the safest, and we've learned some hard lessons along the way. One of the biggest of those lessons was to never actively determine the course of a society's development. We've seen how slippery that slope can be, and how disastrous the results can become. Ultimately what we've felt we could pass onto others has boiled down to two simple questions: how much of it can they responsibly handle, and, if it was a gift to us, do we have the owner's permission to pass it along"

"Oh drop the philosophy lecture, Dr. Jackson!," snarled Carolanne Adama. "Now you're going to hide your brilliance, reluctance, or gods forbid, insecurities behind some trumped up aliens. The next thing you're going to say is that we could have been saved by little green men from the moons of Ragnar!"

Mr. Woolsey could see that this was headed for an early melt down if cooler heads didn't prevail.

"Admirals," he started, looking at Cain and Adama, "do I understand that there is a maximum operating distance each ship can work within?"

Giving Cain a grudging glance, Adama responded. "The usual distance a ship will jump is about five to 10 light years. The red line for most ships is limited to about 30 light years."

"And in all the time you've been in the Cyrannus system, how far out have you mapped?"

Adama frowned for a moment, glancing again to Cain as if for confirmation.

"No more that 100 to 150 light years in any given direction. Why?"

"And can I safely assume you haven't found any worlds with any appreciable amount of life on them?"

"None," he sputtered, shaking his head. "Well, there's been plant and small animal life, but what has any of this got to do..."

"To most of the space faring cultures, it's common knowledge that there is little if anything in the way of intelligent life in this section of space. Obviously you are the exception, but still it is no wonder that you believe that humanity is the only life form or that you were alone. We, on the other hand, have encountered at least 5 different non-human life forms in our travels. Many of these races have proven to be friendly while others have shown themselves to be an all too real threat to our very survival."

"We didn't come here to challenge your beliefs or change your way of life. We came here to ask for help to deal with one of these dangerous races. Unlike your Cylons, an alien species called the Wraith use humanity as cattle, livestock if you will. They suck the life force from your body and throw away the aged, dried out husk when they're done. They don't negotiate, they don't reason, they simply feed on you. The only reason we have survived any encounters so far has been because of good planning, good allies and plenty of good luck."

"But if things are working out just fine for you so far, why come to us?," the senator shot back. "If we are so isolated, as you say, why should we worry about this 'impending doom'?," she air-quoted.

"Only because luck has a nasty habit of running out when you least expect it," Daniel replied. "I know that from personal experience."

"One clear example was when we were into the second year of our travels when one of our scientific teams landed in a binary star system where a main sequence star shared a common orbital centre with a dwarf star. The objective was to take measurements and observations for the scientific community back home. It was supposed to be something nice and simple."

"Each team has a general purpose carry-all vehicle called a MALP, which is also outfitted for sound and video for communications purposes. The first indications that something was wrong was when we began getting signals coming back at a much slower speed than what we were used to. Instead of seeing the usual video feed of 24 frames a second, we started to get signals coming in at 11 frames or images over six minutes, and all of them were extremely red shifted."

Dr. Baltar's head snapped up, making a sharp gasp.

"After we had been able to clean up the images, the true problem became apparent. The Dwarf had suffered an implosion, turning it into a black hole. Those were the last images we had of them before they hit the event horizon. I lost a good friend that day."

Baltar bounced in his chair in excitement.

"Are you telling me, that you have images taken at or about the event horizon of a black hole?! This is astounding! This is completely unheard of! Do you realize what you were watching?"

"Dr. Baltar, we were watching good men and women die in front of us. There wasn't anything exciting about it."

"Oh. Yeah," came the subdued response. "When you put it that way, please forgive my enthusiasm." There was a moment of silence as Baltar collected his thoughts. Looking up pensively, he asked, "But if your team was that close to the black hole, how was it that your ship was able to pull you away safely?"

"I never said we were on a ship. One of the first alien devices we were able to make use of was called a Stargate. All the funky technical jargon aside, when you 'dial' the coordinates of a second Stargate, a wormhole would be formed between the two to allow you to travel great distances almost instantly from one 'gate' to the other. When I travelled with the original expedition, the first trip we made was approximately 300 to 400 light years in distance. Since then we've made trips, almost daily, exploring many distant corners of the galaxy."

It seemed as if the Senator Adama had had enough of this fairy tale. Alien life? A faint possibility at best. But magical 'gates' that could carry you through the stars was the tallest tale any one could have dreamed up. What next? The Lords were aliens in disguise? Carolanne was all set to finally put these upstarts in their place when she was interrupted.

"Dr. Jackson, do you have a description of these 'Stargates'?," inquired Gaius. "A picture, maybe? Did they happen to go by any other names?"

"Doctor?," inquired a concerned Adar. "Where are you going with this?"

"When I was in college, there was a teacher that was bent and determined to make all students conform to the lord's teachings. Because I was willing to question every hypothesis or assumption, he forced me to do an in depth reading of the sacred scrolls to understand the limitations they had placed on what we could do and not do."

"One of the documents I had to read must have been ancient. One section of text was so old I spent more of my time doing the translation before I actually got to read it. The point is that one of the lines talked about the lords travelling between the stars as if walking between rooms. If there is even a grain of truth to this, I want to know."

"Gaius Baltar," whispered Elosha, "I am aware of the text to which you speak. It is not what we consider an accepted text for common use. There is much in it that conflicts with the accepted teachings of the lords. Would you unravel a lifetime of faith for your curiosity?"

"Forgive me Priestess, but as a scientist, I would rather be damned for knowing the truth rather than spend a lifetime of ignorant bliss believing in a lie."

"Priestess Elosha," interrupted Daniel, "if I may. Many of the deities that we observe back home would employ a variety of mundane methods to have their will be done rather than have to constantly display their divine powers. Their followers continue to claim that it is the faith in their nature that makes the difference rather than constant proof they would need to display to keep their followers in line. Wouldn't it also follow that your lords would likely do the same?"

Turning back to the scientist, Daniel continued.

"Dr. Baltar, the Stargate is a 29 metric tonne ring approximately 4.6 metres in diameter that is constructed from a metallic grey mineral. Built in two pieces, the outer ring has nine chevrons placed equidistant around the perimeter while the inner ring has a series of 39 symbols representing 38 constellations and the place of origin. 'Dialling' six of these constellations followed by the origin emblem would set up a wormhole between the two 'gates'. Anyone passing through this wormhole could then travel great distances almost immediately."

"As for the name, there are only three that stand out to me. The more primitive peoples tend to favour the name Doorway to Heaven. The Goa'uld and their former soldiers, the Jaffa, commonly refer to it as the Chappa'ai. However the name I've heard used, by those whom I believe to be its original builders, is the Astrea Porta."

"So, it's true then. The stories about the lords." Baltar whispered.

"I can't say anything about your lords," replied Daniel, "but it should settle some doubts as to their existence."

The solemness of the moment was broken as a knock came from the conference room door.

With a concerned glance toward Mr. Woolsey, Daniel rose from his seat to check it out. There was a short, quickly murmured conversation while Daniel cast a worrisome look back at the Colonial Delegates. He returned to the table a couple of minutes later, clearing his throat.

"There seems to have been an incident," Daniel began.

"Nothing serious I hope," worried Adar.

"Well, both Tim and Sarah are presently unconscious in our infirmary. Captain Simpson had requested a chance to talk with Mr. Simpson, and had been escorted to his office. The Sergeant who had escorted the Captain reported that the conversation very quickly grew in intensity and volume. When he attempted to intrude, he found the two of them so involved that he had no option but to subdue both of them."

"Subdue?," growled Senator Adama, dangerously. "What did you do to my daughter?"

"The Sergeant used a form of non-lethal crowd control that simply knocked the both of them unconscious. They have been transferred to the infirmary simply as a precaution."

"If you would like to ...," Daniel began to say as Senator Adama rose from her seat. Her look speared him to his chair as if to say, 'Do you REALLY need to ask?'.

"Ask a silly question,...," he sighed, rising from his seat.


	11. Politics are still Hell

I do not own Stargate or Battlestar if i did i would be a very rich person who would be retired by now.

 **SG-13 The Cylon War**

 **Chapter 11**

 **Politics are still hell**

Infirmary

Kaga

Caprican Orbit

'Internship had nothing on this,' she thought to herself. 'At least the mentors would be on top of you, challenging you every step of the way. McMurtry would be questioning me if further sedation or blood work would be necessary at this time.'

Lt. Cassandra Fraiser, second in command to the CMO, Dr. Kostya, took a moment to stretch and work out the kinks. Thank god it was near the end of her shift, because the blood work reports on the Admiral and his companion weren't for making the most interesting reading. Anything she could see so far pegged the two as normal as anyone else on the ship. Maybe the DNA reports that the lab was sending up later would have something more to say.

"'Come on,' they said. 'Forget the Air Force. Join the Naval forces and see the galaxy. It'll be more exciting. Even more than the SGC,' they'd said."

Yeah! As if that was really going to happen.

With the ramping up of training to go against the Wraith, the crew of the Kaga were killing themselves trying to get ready. As a result, fatigue and foolishness were bringing in injuries sane people would have easily avoided. So when the call went out for medics to the Admiral's office, she figured that he'd finally over-driven himself and had collapsed from worry and overwork. It wasn't until he and an unknown young woman had been brought into her sickbay that she realized that there had to be more to it than what she had originally assumed.

While it was not a battle for survival, the Admiral clearly was on the receiving end of this fight. Scratches covered his arms and some on his upper chest. The woman that arrived with him, a Colonial by her uniform, was definitely the cause the wounds; her nails sharp and lined with blood. After making sure that none of the injuries were life threatening, Cassandra ordered the two of them to be restrained on separate beds. According to the Sergeant's report, the two of them had gone at it hammer and tongs. So, as far Cassandra was concerned, she was not having a continuation of that personal war in her sickbay when they woke up.

Barely half of her shift had passed before another uproar began in the sickbay. A glance at the clock confirmed that both of her patients should still be out of it. The only question that remained in her mind was, 'What NOW?'

Marching out of her office, Fraiser was confronted by the sight of an unknown woman trying to release the Colonial while, at the same time, batting away intruding nurses. Dr. Jackson was attempting to get the woman to calm down, but all Fraiser could tell was that he was getting was irate gibberish in return.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"

Cassandra had to admit it but she was pleased to see that the world did in fact stop at her strident command. It seemed that she had learned well from her mother's example.

"Dr. Jackson! Who are these people and what are they doing fighting in MY sickbay?!"

"O megáli. Tóra échoume to giatró magissón," muttered the woman, attempting to stare Dr. Fraiser down.

"Dr. Fraiser," began Jackson, "Senator and Admiral Adama, Captain Sarah Simpson's parents."

"Eímai ypotíthetai óti prépei na entyposiasteí apó aftó to paidí?," muttered Carolanne.

"Dr. Jackson?," Fraiser began heatedly. "Foreign languages or not, I WILL NOT tolerate disrespect here!"

Glancing around for anything to help, Daniel snatched the translation stone from Yamoto's uniform. "Sorry but you'll need to get a replacement." Turning back to the doctor, he tossed the stone to her.

"Here catch!"

"O megáli! Tóra échoume tin efkairía na paíxoun paichnídia, enó i kóri mou eínai endechoménos... dying. Is that how you people run things around here?," the Senator thundered, as she fiddled with the restraints.

"Ma'am, please stop that."

"Oh, so the child can speak for herself."

"Yes I can. And I'm telling you this now. Stop undoing those restraints!"

"Do you really think..."

"Yes I do. All the time in fact," snarked Fraiser. "You should try it from time to time. It tends to grow on you!"

Not giving the overbearing senator a moment to regain her balance, Cassandra pushed on.

"I don't know what it is like where you come from, Ma'am, but here in this sickbay, you can consider me as god. The crew come in here expecting to be helped, and I take that responsibility very seriously. So, if someone is going to be released from here it's when I say they're damned good and ready, and not a minute before."

A slight crinkle grew in the corner of Admiral Adama's eye, as a faint smile graced his lips. This was professionalism at its best. Who ever this young lady had picked as a role model had taught her well. He knew of a crotchety old medico back on the Galactica who could get along famously with Fraiser, if she was ever given the chance to meet him.

"Doctor," he began, "I hope you can understand a mother's worry for her daughter. No matter how grown up they become, they're still a her little girl. That being said, is there anything you can tell us about the Captain's status?"

Holding the Senator in an eye to eye stare for a moment longer, Cassandra glanced over at Admiral Adama.

"Yes, sir, I can understand that. For the longest time I was upset on how my mother would keep an eye on the boyfriends I had in my life. I hated it. And now that I understand her worry, I just wish I could thank her for that vigilance."

Taking a deep breath, Fraiser continued.

"When the Captain and the Admiral were admitted here, it was clear that they had been in a fight. Acting on the Admiral's orders, Sergeant Yamoto had made all attempts to break it up, but in the end he was force to use a Zat. Normally only the aggressor would be subdued. But because there was no reasonable way of separating them, the Sergeant felt it would be easiest to knock both of them out and separate them later."

"They were both still unconscious when they arrived, making it easier to deal with any wounds they had suffered. But not knowing how he or she would react when they woke up, I decided it best that they both be restrained."

"And so you're just going to…," began the senator.

"Excuse me," interrupted Admiral Adama. "Did I just hear you say 'Admiral'?"

"Yes," responded Fraiser, a puzzled look on her face. "That is Admiral Timothy Simpson. Commanding Officer of the Kaga."

From a nearby bed, Simpson groaned aloud, "Can't you people just let some of us poor souls die in peace?"

Conference Room

Kaga

Caprican Orbit

"So you claim that you don't want to interfere with a society's natural development," announced Cain. "Does that mean you would willingly let one fall to keep to your standards? Would you let us, as fellow humans, fall to some catastrophe?"

Even in the Senator's absence, the conference had continued, albeit in a more sedate form. The atmosphere was less fiery, but some points being raised were exposing sensitive points that rubbed the Colonials the wrong way.

"If that is what you as a society had chosen to do," began Woolsey, "then yes."

"You, sir, are one cold, callous SOB. Did you know that?!"

"There is nothing cold and callous about it, Ma'am. We regret some of the actions we need to do. But we've seen the damage others can do, well intentioned or not. It is the opinion of some that we may have already crossed that line with your civilization. The only problem is that the damage was done before you or we could appreciate what was going on."

"From what we can tell from studying your past, your cultural history appears to be distorted or in some cases totally missing. And I'm not trying to offend your beliefs, Priestess," he quickly added, "but I've personally been to both Kobol and your 'Earth', and there is something you need to know before these talks continue."

"Mr. Simpson says you have a saying that he's heard from time to time," intruded Dr. Jackson. "'This has happened before, and it will happen again'? Had your records from Kobol survived intact, and if any records from Terra arrived at all, you would have known this to be true. You left Kobol to survive the nuclear and biological fallout from a conflict between master and created servants. Terra suffered the same fate. Unfortunately we were unable to find indications that anyone had survived that particular conflict. And then there is you."

"And what of us?," growled Admiral Cain. "No! Leave me alone," she muttered, brushing off a calming hand from the Priestess, "I want to know what 'thoughts' this person has about us!"

"You were travelling down the same rocky road as your ancestors and cousins, potentially facing the same cataclysmic end, until…," Daniel paused, "the situation was changed," he finished quietly.

"So? Where's the problem in that?," she challenged. "We survived. The Cylons are dead. Problem solved."

"Is it? Unlike the previous encounters, this time you had outside help. Had we not been there, it is quite likely your fate could have been the same. Who knows if this was a self-fulfilling prophecy from before on Kobol, but all I know right now is that we interrupted the cycle this time round."

"So," growled Cain, "is this supposed to mean that you are somehow responsible for us now? That you're to tell us how to live, speak, what gods to believe in?"

"Far from it, Admiral Cain," replied Woolsey. "It is not our place to dictate how others are to live or die. All we do is to try to learn from each others' mistakes, and to help where we can. On my world we have a proverb, 'Those who fail to learn from their history are doomed to repeat it'."

Admiral Cain sniggered for a moment. "That almost sounds like something Simpson would have blamed on his demon 'Mur-fee'."

One of the Tau'ri guards chuckled. "And all along I thought that Murphy was an optimist."

Cain looked stunned. "So you've heard of this Murphy before?"

"It's the reason Simpson and his team succeeded so well," Woolsey explained. "Murphy's sayings, or Laws as we like to call them, are really a collection of common sense understandings on how the galaxy works. The basic tenant being 'If anything can go wrong, it will'. SG-13 simply took those laws to heart. That is why, for the most part, they were so successful."

"In the end, what does that mean for the Colonies," wondered Adar.

"That is totally up to you," replied Woolsey. "We are neither here to judge nor to rule. We came here to simply arrange an alliance with you. It seems to me that you've been given an opportunity to choose as you will. The only question that remains is, what will you do?"

Tim quietly sat in the comfy corner chair of the VIP quarters, pondering the twists that had become his life.

He had been the first to awaken from the effects of the Zat, having prepared himself before the sergeant had fired the shots. Still it had hurt to recall the words and emotions that either of them had been expressed during the fight. What hurt even more were the looks of loathing Carolanne had sent him as he'd been checked out before being released. He wanted nothing more than to hold and comfort Sarah, to let her know that he was there. But unless something caused Hades to be frozen over, Mama Adama wasn't likely to let him anywhere near her little girl any time soon.

And as if to add insult to injury, Lt. Fraiser had denied him from returning to active duty.

"Lt., I need to get back to my men. They need to be ready for what is coming. They need the training from someone who knows. They need...,"

"A commanding officer is fit to train and lead them, Admiral," Fraiser growled in return. I don't think you realize it, but you are killing yourself with the pace you are setting. And these guys are literally killing themselves to keep up with you. I know you need to get them ready to deal with the Wraith, but at the rate you are going, there won't be anyone left to be on guard."

It had boiled down to Dr. Fraiser laying down the law. For the next 48 hours, at least, he was to relax in one of the VIP quarters, enjoying down time. She made it abundantly clear that with the exception of some galaxy ending catastrophe, he was not to budge from there. In return, he'd yelled, cajoled, and even pleaded with her but none of it could sway her attitude. In the end it was the threat of a very thorough physical using icy instruments and very large calibre needles that had made him realize he was fighting a losing battle.

Damn, she was so much like her mother!

Surrendering peacefully he was escorted walk back to the temporary quarters, feeling more like a condemned man being walked to his cell rather than the commander of the ship. Of course while he endured his recovery, there was still paperwork to fill his time; training orders to revise, the Galleon records for him to translate and the records from Terra to research through. But in the back of it all, he was starting to wonder if it was all going to be worth it in the end. Without Sarah.

'Waiting always seemed to be the hardest part," Bill thought to himself. 'Whether it was waiting for the return of his pilots from battle, or the pause before jumping into battle, it was all the same.' In this case, he knew it was harder knowing that it was his own child he was waiting on.

Even with Dr. Fraiser's assurances, the Adama's were concerned. Sarah's vitals were clear and strong, or so they were told. The blood work had shown that Sarah had been suffering from extreme fatigue and stress over an extended period of time. It was only natural that she would be sleeping as deeply as she was. Only Sarah would know when it was time to awaken. Both Fraiser and the attending nursing staff offered to inform them when she came to, but the offers were 'politely' declined.

Both Cain and Adar had made an appearance to offer their sincerest wishes, but even that was not enough to relieve the stress of the vigil.

It was three hours after Tim had been escorted from the infirmary that Sarah began to return to the land of the living. At first it was just a groan and then a gentle tug at her restrains. It was when her eyes finally opened slightly that they knew things were going to be all right.

"Mom? Dad?," Sarah whispered.

"We're right here, honey," Carolanne replied soothingly.

"What's going on? Why can't I move my arms?"

Although she had approached the family, Cassandra remained a respectful distance away. With a tilt of her head and a raised eyebrow, she offered the Senator to check Sarah for herself.

"What is the last thing you remember, Sarah?"

There was a pause as Sarah perused her mind. There had been many things she'd been mulling over for the longest time, but the most prominent had been her relationship with Tim. At first it had been a fairy tale romance straight out of the story books she'd had as a kid. But then came the war, Tim's disappearance, and most recently the unexpected revelations.

"I remember going to see Tim in his quarters. I had arrived early, so the escort let me wait in Tim's office. I had gotten so frustrated by the mystery and reluctance to talk that I went through the room just trying to find out what was going on. Once Tim arrived, I remember him making a bad joke about what I was doing. From there the conversation became heated, and then... and then..."

"Oh, gods!...Oh, gods," Sarah moaned, as tears began to gather. "I'm sorry Mom, Dad. I'm so sorry. I know I should have been in control, but I lost it on Tim. I couldn't help it. It was so frustrating not knowing, and when he seemed to take it all as one great joke,... Oh gods, what have I done? What is he going to think of me now?"

Cassandra eased herself beside the distraught young woman, opposite her concerned parents. Confident that Sarah's attitude was genuine, Cassandra deftly removed the restraints allowing the Captain to curl up on her side sobbing her fears aloud.

"I'm not a psychologist," Dr. Fraiser commented to the elder Adama's, "but from personal experience what I know she is going through. Her fear of loss, of great change that is being forced upon her, upon you all, is enough to challenge even the most hardy. When I lost my family, and then my foster mother, it felt like I was a piece of paper dancing in a windstorm, not knowing if or where I could fit in. It was the support of my SGC family that I was able to pick up the pieces and move onward."

Bill looked on thoughtfully as a mother tried patiently to comfort her hurting daughter.

"So, maybe another attempt to visit..."

Bill stopped abruptly, noticing a strange look in Fraiser's eye.

"Alright, alright," he mused, his hands raised in mock surrender. "Maybe another attempt to PEACEFULLY visit Tim is in order, right Doctor? Clearly this entire family has some healing to do."

"I agree," responded Fraiser. "Personally, I for one never condone violence when it can be avoided. However the harsh reality of it is that violence, be it physical or emotional, can and does take place. And as much as Sarah figures Tim deserved some sort of an awakening, you also need to know that he is battling his own demons. He could really benefit from the same help Sarah needs."

"If that is the case," Bill continued, catching his wife's eyes, "once Sarah is fit to leave, could you please ask the Admiral if we could pay him a visit?"

"I see what I can do for you, Sir."

The firm knock on the hatch seemed like a welcome reprieve from the quiet boredom of enforce downtime.

Under normal circumstances, off duty or downtime for Tim meant nothing more that time to revise plans, schedule or re-schedule one syllabus or another to maximize the effectiveness of the training his people were going through. In his opinion, they were going to need it in order to survive their encounter with the Wraith.

If that weren't enough, he was still working on translating the Galleon logs, and confirming details with the reports from Terra. There was so much to learn, and yet there seemed to be great gaps in what they were finding out. And it was those gaps that seemed to keep him from fitting the pieces together to make some sort of coherent big picture.

The doctor was sort of lenient, in a way. Although Tim was allowed very limited access to any operational work or planning, she had been much freer with his time to continue with the historical research he had promised Dr. Jackson. Only an hour or two at a time. The Admiral still needed his rest.

"Colonel Green!," remarked a started Simpson, as he opened the door. "I wasn't expecting you for another 36 to 38 hours. Is there any chance this means I getting a reprieve from watching the paint dry on these four walls?"

Simpson's jovial mood faded slightly as he took in the Colonel's guarded gaze back at him.

"I'm sorry to inform you, Admiral, that the doctor is still as adamant as ever. However," he continued, gesturing to his right, "she has granted permission for a small group of visitors to come see you."

Peeking around the edge of the hatch, Tim froze in fear as he caught sight of Sarah and her parents waiting patiently down the hallway. The four armed escorts seemed to ease things a little, but just the same Tim still paused apprehensively, as if waiting for something to happen.

"Sir?," continued the XO, "if this isn't a good time..."

"No, Mr. Green. No," Tim responded in slow even tones, his breath in a forced calm. "Now is as good a time as any. It wouldn't do any good if I were to put off the inevitable."

"Are you sure, Sir? I could have the escorts stay for everyone's safety. Admiral Adama has assured me that there will not be a repeat of the previous visit, but I would rather be safe than sorry."

Tim had to force himself to be calm. Emotions had run high before. To have it happen again would not benefit anyone.

The looks on the two women spoke volumes, ranging from simple disgust to,..., was that a hint of betrayal? Considering the stories that Dr. Jackson and Mr. Woolsey had brought back after their visits planet-side, it was something he'd been expecting all along.

The Admiral was another story. Other than a face he'd hate to see on the other side of a poker game, there were hints of concern and worry. Something he hadn't expected to see. And when the two men locked eyes, Tim swore he could see a minute nod of understanding.

"Mr. Green, if the Admiral has given you his word that nothing will happen, I for one would be willing to accept it."

"Very well, sir. And about the escorts...?"

"You can post two outside if you see fit. However, I believe it will be a very boring shift for them this time 'round."

"Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"No," Simpson began, as he waved his guests into the quarters. "Wait a minute. Actually, yes there is. If he's available, could you please have Dr. Jackson bring box number 'THX-1138' from storage room three. I have a feeling that it will become a necessary exhibit for the discussion we're about to have."

"Very good, sir."

And with that Tim shut the hatch.

Turning from the door, Tim found that the Adama's had found seats for themselves and were eyeing him intently, quizzically, even expectantly. Sarah was curled up in the recently vacated comfy chair, one of Tim's liberated jackets draped over her. Bill and Carolanne settled themselves in a nearby couch. The stage was set. The only question was who would be the first to start.

An awkward pause fell over the room as Tim struggled to figure out what to say. Anything he could think of just didn't seem right as idea after idea was looked at and thrown out. In the end it was Bill who started things off.

"So," Bill started, gazing about the room. "Rather snug quarters for an Admiral?"

"Yeah," Tim chuckled, glancing over at Sarah. "Unfortunately I'm still cleaning up from the last party I threw. From what I've been told it will be at least a week before I can move back in."

"Well, you deserved it," Sarah quietly muttered.

"Sarah!," Bill rebuked. "Enough of that."

"No, Sir," offered Tim. "She's right. I deserved it."

"Maybe, but no one deserves to be trashed out like that. I heard that it was bad, but I never expected it to be this bad."

"Yeah, well there were a few issues that we had needed to work out," Tim replied, casting a pleading look at Sarah. "I'm not convinced we were able to cover everything when we were rudely interrupted."

"Things like that tend to happen, unfortunately. I trust you will take the time to continue that talk later? A little more peacefully, please? The two of you need to work those things out. Together!," he intoned, glancing at the two of them.

"Yes, Sir," came the twinned reply.

"And I've already told you, Tim. This is family. Drop the sir!"

There was a moment while Bill eyed Tim, curiously, before continuing.

"With all that has happened, come out, whatever, I think that proper introductions are in order. Don't you, Tim?"

Tim nodded in silent agreement as he paused to take a breath.

"Mr. & Mrs. Adama, Mrs. Simpson, I am Admiral Timothy Simpson, Fleet commander of the Tau'ri Fifth fleet, and presently the Commanding Officer of the Kaga. I was formerly a Colonel leading SG-13 with the simple task of getting to know you better. This was to be with the understanding on how best to approach your society in a peaceful first contact."

"So you were here to spy on us," challenged Carolanne. "Contrary to all your hype and propaganda, you were here to see what you could get your hands on."

"No! That's not it at all," cried Tim. "We were here to learn about the common Colonial; to know what he or she would have known. This was to have been limited to things accessible in ordinary life: life sciences, infrastructure, and religion just to name a few. We were under express orders never to check out anything dealing with Colonial Security."

"And yet you ended up dealing with the military in the long run. Right?"

"It was never our intention to cross that line," Tim pleaded. "You have to understand something. Most of my team had just gone through a global conflict, losing all of their families in the process. The next thing we knew, we were tagged for a contact assignment that was going to potentially keep us busy for years. Being strangers in a strange land, we found ourselves homesick for something even remotely familiar. The 'Crashdown' was the closest thing to something we'd had at home than what we'd seen in a long while. We just had to go."

"And when you saw the VR trainer..."

"Call it professional curiosity. From where I come from, there had been several countries vying for fighter aircraft supremacy. Each had their own methods of designing their birds for speed, combat, stealth, you name it. As a professional fighter pilot, I was always trained to know my enemy. Understand how they think. Because in a fight, knowing is half the battle."

"And you being matched up against Starbuck was just a fluke of chance?," intruded Bill.

"Absolutely. The Bar Manager swore to me, afterwards, that the only way I could have been put into the combat pool would be if my solo session was closed out and my profile was re-entered into the common combat pool." 

"But once he was in he seemed to do okay against Kara, right Bill?," asked Carolanne.

"Not really," offered Bill. "If I read the situation correctly, Tim, you were in over your head from the very beginning. Weren't you?"

"Don't you know it! At that point in time I had had two, maybe three hours of self taught practice before the system chucked me into the deep end."

"So why didn't you just quit," Sarah prodded. "Why did you put yourself through all that punishment?"

"I really don't know," Tim replied pensively. "Once I realized what had happened, I felt as if I was committed. Besides, some of those opening moves Starbuck employed were so simple to avoid that it was almost insulting. So I felt that to quit at that point was almost tantamount to admitting cowardice. Besides, it felt good to stretch and push the envelope after playing taxi driver for so long."

"And when you had your taste of Colonial life, why didn't you leave once the war started?"

"Oh, believe me, some of my teammates were all for getting the hell out of here as quickly as possible. The only problem was that leaving was never an option we could choose. The higher ups figured any intel on your enemies would benefit them, as well as garnering some good will when you found out that we stayed to fight at your side. The final nail in that coffin was when we found that the transport that had dropped us off in the beginning wouldn't be able to come back in time to get us out of here."

"It was during my last conversation with my CO that I asked him what we were supposed to do if the draft caught up with us. I could tell that the situation was leaving a foul taste in his mouth; leaving his people in a potentially dangerous position was not something that sat well with him. But in the end the order was, and I quote, 'You are to answer the call like good Colonials'."

"I'm sorry," Bill offered.

"I am too," replied Tim. "And when the dust had settled, I had lost two teammates. Two good friends. Two members of a family I'd adopted to replace what I'd lost back on Earth. All in all, I'm just wonder if it will be worth it in the end or if I've delayed some sort of inevitable conclusion."

"Inevitable?," coughed Carolanne. "What in the worlds are you talking about? The Cylon threat has been eliminated. It is safe again for the human race to take its rightful place in the galaxy."

"But what will you do when you encounter another life form out there. Something that doesn't conform to what you believe intelligent life should be? Because, believe me, there are aliens out there. And some don't take kindly to being told that they don't count in the great scheme of things."

"You, too? And here I thought you would have grown past Dr. Jackson's stories of little green men."

"For the record, Thor is grey, not green. And while he and the other Asgard are short in stature, they have been the most stalwart allies to the Tau'ri people. It was they who told us that we should try contacting you. Even though I can't count any as friends, I've learned to respect them and their opinions."

"And this is taking us where?"

"What was the basic relationship between Human and Cylon?," Tim countered.

"We were the Masters and they were the Servants," snapped an irritated Carolanne.

"And were they 'dumb' automatons controlled from a remote location or was there some measure of programming that allowed them to operate independently?"

"From the very beginning," intruded Bill, "the Cylon, or Cybernetic Lifeform Node as they were originally called, had a certain amount of self-autonomy. They were able to take verbal commands with little or no difficulty."

"This is amazing," admitted Simpson. "There have been many disciplines back on Earth trying to work out the basis for Artificial Intelligence, but none have had any really measurable success so far. Do you have any general idea how the initial matrix was developed?"

"It was never developed, as far as I know."

"But if it wasn't developed, where did..."

"Daniel Graystone, the originator of the Cylon had just lost his 16 year old daughter, Zoe, to a suicide bombing. She had been considered almost a computer genius in her own right. When Graystone found out that she had created and left a fully functional copy of herself in the VR world, he was bent and determined to find a way to resurrect her back into the real world."

"So, what you're telling me is that this man, Graystone, used a fully formed, adolescent, created personality to inhabit his experimental android body? What about the other models we were told about? Did he create completely different personalities for them?"

"There was no need. Stripping away any unique personality functions, they were able to use Zoe's core matrix as the template for any other Cylons that they created."

Looking up, he questioned, "What was the usual action taken if and when one of the units would begin to 'act up'?"

"In the case of a continuous operational malfunction, the programming would be wiped and a 'clean' template would be installed."

"Effectively 'killing' the personality inside."

"Yes," came Bill's quiet reply.

"Oh, Christ!," groaned Tim, as the entire picture finally came crashing into view. Resting his backside against the wall, he slowly slid down the wall to a resounding thud on the floor, all the while muttering, "crap," over and over again.

"Still gathering intel on the 'evil' Colonials, gentlemen?"

Daniel grinned as the two marines started and then attempted to casually resume their posts outside the Admiral's temporary quarters. It had been years since Dr. Jackson had had to resort to stealth to observe people in their natural habitats, and was pleased he hadn't lost too much of the touch.

"I don't know what you mean, Dr. Jackson," responded the Corporal, nonchalantly. "Colonel Green insisted we keep an ear out to ensure the Admiral's safety. Considering what Sgt. Yamoto had to say about the earlier squabble, I simply thought it a good idea to listen closely."

"So, nothing new to report, Sgt. Henderson?"

"No. And personally, Dr. Jackson, I have no idea what's going on right now. There had been a lively discussion about something, but it sounded like the Admiral cursed about something and now there's been nothing but silence."

With a concerned look on his face, Daniel shifted the grip on the package he was carrying, squared his shoulders and rapped on the hatch. Hearing what he thought to be permission, Daniel cracked the hatch a bit further and timidly looked inside.

"Come on in, Dr. Jackson," sighed a familiar voice, "I assure you it's quite safe here."

"Are you sure it's okay, Admiral? I'm not intruding, am I?"

Daniel noticed Sarah giving Tim a significant stare. "Admiral," she quietly parroted, "you know we going to need to talk about this. Right?"

"The thought has never been far from my mind, dear. There has been much I've wanted to talk to you about, but there was never the time, the place, or something else just got in the way. All I ask is that you be just a little more patient. Some of the things that I'm only just hearing about are changing the big picture as I see it. I just need a little more time to sort things out."

"Things, Admiral?," questioned Daniel.

"Oh, yeah. Come on in, find a seat, and put that carefully on the coffee table. No need to damage any more of the furniture than we have to."

The table gave a slight groan as Daniel placed it on the table. The Colonials looked at it with concern.

"Don't worry, it doesn't explode."

"At least not in the physical sense," commented Tim. Looking up at Daniel, he continued.

"Daniel, do you remember Harlan?"

"Who?"

"Comtraya!," called Tim, as he waived his hands.

"Oh god, that was something I really didn't need to be reminded about," groaned Daniel. "What about him?"

"Cylon Construction 2.0."

"Seriously?"

"Yup," responded Tim. "And it gets even better. The core matrix that all Cylons share is based on one of the creator's own 16 year old daughter, a certified computer protege if I understand correctly."

"So, adolescent female angst,..."

"Mixed in with a little of McKay attitude."

"Oi!," groaned Daniel. "I was about to suggest we hide the Terminator movies from them, but I see they've already seen #4."

"Who is this 'Harlan' you mentioned?," interrupted Sarah.

"Harlan is something of a unique individual, and something of an acquired taste," responded Daniel, with a bit of a grin. "Suffice it to say that he is the last inhabitant of a world called Altair. Several millennium ago, his planet suffered an ecological catastrophe that, over a short period of time, rendered the entire surface uninhabitable. Unable to leave the planet, arrangements were made to move as much of the population as possible underground."

"Initially there had been hope that things on the surface would recover if given time. Because of that, many of the population agreed to have copies of their personalities copied into android bodies. Like your Cylons, the android version were used to work on the more dangerous repairs required to keep the infrastructure working. But as time went on, as hope and the natural population died out, many of the android population began to question the reason for their own existence. As the centuries stretched into the millennia, even the androids began to lose hope. Soon after, between accidents and out-right suicides, even that population dwindled."

"By the time we arrived on Altair, Harlan was the only one fighting a losing battle to keep the existing infrastructure running. Desperate for help, he rendered us unconscious and created android duplicates of us. I admit, when I found out I was amazed and maybe just a little disconcerted."

"But still it shouldn't have bothered you all that much. It was just a machine, wasn't it?," questioned Sarah.

"But isn't the human body just a machine? Remove the personality and it's just as helpless as an unprogrammed robot."

"But a machine can't have a soul! And, therefore, cannot be alive," she objected.

"I might have agreed with you in the beginning," admitted Daniel. "But a couple of years later, we met back up with our duplicates during one of our missions, it was astounding to see what they had become. Looking them in the eye, I could see the same fire, the same desire to live that I could see in my own team mates day after day. They had the same desire to live on their own terms and not for someone else. So how could I not, in good conscience, offer it, err, him the same respect and acknowledgement as I do to you?"

Sarah seemed to be at a loss for words.

"If you don't mind, I really do have to ask. Was there any real attempt to communicate with the Cylons, to reason with them as equals?"

"Of course we tried," sputtered Carolanne. "But nothing ever came of it. Time and again, people would try their best to get through to them. But in the end, there was absolutely no reasoning with those unfeeling, soulless machines!"

Bill looked thoughtfully for a minute. "I wouldn't say 'unfeeling'," he countered. "10 years into the first Cylon war, I was on the mission where I earned my call sign. My co-pilot, Coker and I were tasked with getting an engineer to the resort world of Djerba to deal with a Cylon Communications Station. While we were there, we encountered and damaged one of their scout units. As it was laying on the floor, twitching away, it was giving off an eerie mechanical squeal. The engineer with us claimed that it was screaming in pain."

"Bovine droppings."

"That's what Dr. Kelly said," Bill responded, with a shrug.

"What a minute," interrupted Carolanne. "Did you say Doctor Kelly? As in Doctor Rebecca Kelly, the renowned Cylon Engineer?"

"The one and the same."

"There were rumours about her disappearance so many years ago. Something about not being able to handle her husband's death. There was talk that she didn't even accept the belief that he died a hero, saying that it was all political propaganda to support the war." She speared Bill with a significant glare. "How did you know about her?"

Bill responded, with a pained look on his face. "Because Becca was a part of that mission to Djerba. Unfortunately she never made it back."

"And..."

"Please don't ask. Even though the Admiralty viewed the entire operation as a massive success, our part in it went to Hades in a handbasket from the very beginning. It was a gods-sent miracle that Coker and I survived, let alone made it out alive. As far as I'm concerned, we lost too many good people that day."

Tim waited a couple of moments, out of respect to the pain Bill's memories were dredging up.

"There is a reason I was leading the conversation this way. And neither is Dr. Jackson's appearance just for show," continued Tim, as he made his way to the coffee table. "During his stay at the Delphi Museum, Joe Harris was delving deeper into the Kobolian records to find out as much as he could about why you had to leave. Much of the documentation did not seem to have been intact. In fact, he figured some of it had been altered. And if you took the time to carefully read between the lines, he believed some may have been outright removed."

"Can I assume that you can recognized this," he asked removing the cover off of the box.

"Of course," snapped the Senator. "Anyone can see that it is the head of a Cylon Centurion."

"Yes it is," admitted Husker, "but..." He paused for a moment, looking intently. "Sarah, could you come here for a moment?"

"What's wrong, Dad?"

"When you studied Cylon construction, was there any 'mouth' as part of the facial features?"

"No, there wasn't. And what the Hades are these," she muttered, studying the sides.

The father and daughter team became so immersed in their studies of the head that they completely ignored the others in the room. To Daniel it was almost comical how the Senator was trying, and failing, to get some sort of response out of the two. He wondered if that was what Jack had gone through when the archaeologist would begin 'playing with his rocks'.

Abruptly Bill turned to challenge Tim.

"Where did you find this? It's nothing like anything we've seen from the Cylons so far."

"And you never will," admitted Tim. "This is an example of a Terran Cylon. And before you ask, yes it does look like they were intended to communicate both vocally and digitally."

"But why?," questioned Sarah. "Wouldn't it be simpler to just transmit the commands and be done with it?"

"The records that we were able to recover indicate that both sides were actively involved together in whatever project was being worked on," Daniel offered. "But at the same time, the entire population wanted to put their own origins behind them."

"But why would they want to do that?," Carolanne asked, incredulously. "They were part of the family of man. They were descendants of the lords of Kobol. The Thirteenth Tribe was.."

"Comprised of Kobolian Cylons and Humans," intruded Tim.

The look of shock blazed across the faces of the Colonials. They looked at each other as if Tim had pronounced himself as Hades right hand man.

"That's impossible!," muttered Carolanne. "It's insane. Why would you even suggest something as profane as that!"

"Only because it's the truth," remarked Daniel. "I can understand how big of a deal this could be to you. It's not the first time I've had to offer news of this magnitude before. And believe me, it doesn't get easier over time."

"But what proof do you have that it's true," Sarah challenged, stumbling over her own disbelief.

"All we can offer is the documentation and artifacts that we've recovered from Terra. For some reason they were so proud of their accomplishments that they kept meticulous details and records of their past. It was an amazing reading about the synergy of metal and man working so well together. It was their hope that in the end they could overcome the prejudices of the rest of the 'family'. It's unfortunate that later on, the same sort of schism formed between the Terrans and their creations, causing them to succumb to the same faults their ancestors did. And, in the end, it consumed them all."

"But records like that can be faked, manufactured," accused the senator.

Tim pointed to the metal head.

"But is that faked?," he prodded gently. "Someone has put much thought and time into designing that artifact. If your Cylon experts had a chance to inspect it, I believe they would be amazed at the differences in design theories that were used in its creation. They would know it was not a fake."

"So. All this time, the solitude, the silence,...," began Sarah.

"Was me trying to figure out how to tell you, all of you, without bringing the wrath of officialdom down upon us all," completed Tim. "I never intended to hurt you, Sarah. I was trying to figure out a way of letting you know, but at the same time minimize the resulting pain and confusion. I've seen the results when a civilization, large or small, has its beliefs turned upside down. It's never pretty."

"But still, you could have talked to me," she pleaded.

"And once you heard what I had to say, you would have been honour bound to report it to your superiors, right?," he continued gently.

Sarah gazed back at him in confused, pensive thought.

"With what we've learned here, this could be a massive problem," commented Husker. "Some of the veterans and especially the hard liners, both religious and secular, are going to want to brand you as a heretic."

"I only hope they can get over it some time soon, because there is a big galaxy out there that will not stand for narrow beliefs or thinking like this."

"Talking about narrow thinking," commented a more subdued Carolanne, "I still need to know something. That unsightly bit of graffiti you had added to the marriage tattoo. Why did you insist on having it added?"

Tim chuckled as he began to unbutton his shirt.

"I'm surprised that Sgt. Yamoto hasn't spread the word around about that, considering he was the one supervising my and Sarah's transfer to the infirmary. If you don't mind, I'll let Dr. Jackson explain this one."

Confused, Daniel eyed Tim curiously. It wasn't until he saw the proffered limb that he began to understand.

"I haven't had a chance to study enough of your past to offer a comparison," Jackson began, slipping into lecture mode, "but on Earth, we've had many civilizations rise and fall, leaving behind their knowledge and languages. Many of today's languages are based on those past versions. This 'graffiti' Tim has on his arm is one that, it is safe to say, is the root for at least half of what is spoken on Earth today. Many groups or organizations prefer to have their motto's in this language, partially for the grandeur they seem to impart or just for the simple way the ideals are expressed."

"Spoken aloud, the words on Tim's arm say, 'Semper Fidelis'. The simple translation of that is, 'Always Faithful'."

It was a greatly subdued family that rejoined the Colonial Delegation in the receiving lobby. Even the normally outspoken senator startled the others with her quiet pensive look.

"Bill?," began a worried Cain.

"Not now, Helena," came the quiet response. "There will be plenty of time on the return trip," Bill paused for a moment, "I hope. There's more to this situation than we ever realized. Maybe more than some of us will be willing to accept."

"Mr. President," he continued, in a louder voice,"I'd like to finally introduce you to our gracious host."

"About time," came a muttered response, from somewhere in the back. "It doesn't say much for a commander to delegate sensitive work like this to second rate flunkies."

"Mr. Adar, may I introduce the Commanding Officer of the Tau'ri War Carrier Kaga. Admiral Timothy Simpson."

The result was a deafening silence.

"Ti... ADMIRAL!," sputtered an amazed Cain.

"Ma'am," Tim responded, offering a respectful salute. "I'm sorry for the subterfuge, but as Mr. Woolsey must have informed you, this was never intended to be a military operation. Just a meeting of two civilizations."

"But your presence would have..."

"... undermined the whole process. I would have been used to sway the influence one way or another. Either you would have tried to shame me into making the Tau'ri delegates see things your way, or to view me as the Tau'ri's influence to have you see things their way. Now was not the time to sway the balance. As much as I am an Officer of the Tau'ri, I still respect and honour the Colonial traditions. The only thing I am hoping is that I used the right methods for the right reasons."

"Well played, Admiral Simpson. Well played." chuckled Adar. "I'm beginning to be thankful you didn't take up politics instead of the sword. Either way you make for a rather formidable opponent."

"Thank you, Mr. President, but I trust you will forgive my bluntness if I were to say that I like the way things are right now. I would like to believe I can maintain a certain sense of personal honour."

Adar chuckled all the more.

"Admiral Adama?," Simpson called out, gesturing to a familiar box.

"I'll make sure that Dr. Baltar gets it. He should be able to do something with it."

"Before or after he hyperventilates from excitement," Tim grinned. "I'll make sure to have the supporting documents transmitted to you in the next 3 hours,".

"That would be appreciated."

With the ritual nautical wishes of a safe journey offered, Simpson, Woolsey, and Jackson gathered quietly to watch as the Colonial shuttle launched from the flight pod. With what had been shared with the Colonials, the three individuals did not envy what their counterparts were going to have to discuss on their way to the Pegasus.

"Are you sure it was right NOT to tell them about the Terran involvement on Earth?," wondered Daniel. "It's something that will come out sooner or later, and with how your disclosure went with the Adama's, it would be a whole lot calmer if it were done sooner."

"Maybe," replied Tim pensively, "but at the same time it will only make your job of convincing them that we are not of the Colonies that much harder. For the most part, when the Island of Thera erupted, our Colonial visitors were wiped out. If any survived, they would be so few as to have had no impact on the Tau'ri bloodline. What it did do was to cause a major change in the course of civilization by empowering the City-States of the Greeks to take centre stage, and direct history the way it has."

"It's not going to be pretty down there," remarked Daniel.

"You do it every time," Simpson quipped jokingly.

Woolsey looked on quizzically. "Is there something you need to warn me about?" A sudden frown shot across his face. "You didn't mention anything about the Galleon, did you?"

"No," responded Simpson, "but what we had to say about Terra was enough to cause serious ripples."

"A little testy, were they?," Woolsey questioned.

"Worse than the Victorian's response to Darwin's Theories about evolution," responded Daniel, shaking his head. "Thankfully the only ones who know are on that shuttle. But they're going to have tons to hash out before they're through."

"Can we expect retribution of some sort? Should we be prepared for a quick getaway? Hypothetically speaking of course."

"Colonel Green had the departure vectors plotted hours ago," Simpson replied approvingly. "He's rather perceptive, that man."

The atmosphere in the shuttle shifted like waves in an unsettled sea. Clearly there was much these Tau'ri possessed that could change the Colonies. But would they be willing to share? Could they be persuaded to share more? Those were some of the questions that persistently haunted them.

Gaius Baltar was beside himself with glee at some of the technical marvels that he had seen. The unlimited potential, the possible accomplishments that could be performed, all based on concepts and principles he found to be outside the norm. He could see that it could take lifetimes to fully master this new technology, to harness it to his (excuse me, he thought), their will, so it would benefit all of mankind.

Between Cain and Adar, they could see these Tau'ri as relative newcomers to the greater picture. For all their claims of higher morality, they still lagged behind in other areas. Gender equality tended to be a serious limitation. Shipboard operations still had heavy ties to a 'wet' navy. Maybe there there would be opportunities to wiggle out some concessions. These Tau'ri had to see reason and be willing to learn from the hard fought lessons that their Colonial cousins had experienced long ago.

Elosha gazed on the proceedings with quiet trepidation. Following Adar's request, she'd done everything she could to contact and interact with her counterparts. The results had left her troubled, unsettled you might say. Unlike the unity enjoyed throughout the Colonies, the Tau'ri seemed to endure the uncertainty of the plethora of seemingly contradictory religions. It was as if the Tau'ri could choose whatever they wished to believe in, or nothing at all. The other spiritual leaders had tried to assure her that it was this acceptance of diverse faiths was what allowed the Tau'ri to see the galaxy for what it was. That wasn't to say that mistakes didn't happen, but in the end it allowed them to acknowledge their shortcomings and move on.

Elosha could see now that any chance of bringing the Tau'ri into the Colonial fold was non-existent. Knowing that, there was a greater issue that now concerned her. In the long run, how much would these new ideals and beliefs affect the Colonial way of life.

Admiral Adama wrestled with his own similar quagmire. What he'd learned from Tim just a few short hours ago had the potential to upset his entire society.

For years there had been rampant speculation as to why the 13th tribe had gone their separate way. Some had thought that there had been a difference in the way they had wanted to worship the lords. Others had considered that the thirteeners had wanted to go back to the basics, to worship without the fancy trappings. A final group had considered the drastic option that the tribe had just wanted to get away from it all, to be the prodigals, the wayward cousins that would someday come to their senses and humbly return. The only problem was that the truth, as he'd discovered, was stranger than the wildest fiction anyone could have conceived.

With his family, Adama sat to the side, keeping a quiet vigil. He pondered on how he could, or even should, reveal what he knew. As part of his oath to the fleet he'd sworn to protect the Colonies from all threats, foreign and domestic. He never, in all of his long career, considered that he could potentially be as great a threat as the recent war with the Cylons. But here he was. What could he possibly do?

"Admiral Adama," muttered a quiet voice in the distance.

"ADMIRAL ADAMA," another voice intruded, more loudly.

"Gods Damn It! BILL!," shouted an exasperated Cain. "What is going on in there?!"

Bill, shocked and not a little embarrassed, looked up to see a crowd had gathered around him.

"Bill! What is wrong with you?," Helena asked him, concern written all over her face. "It's not like you to get lost in your thoughts like that. What was it that Tim had to say that has you so out of sorts?"

Before answering, Adama cast a quick glance at both his wife and daughter. Each offered their own nod of support in return.

"Helena, Mr. President, I apologize for this apparent lack of professionalism," he began, "but ever since my family's reunion on the Kaga, I've been given a great deal to think about." Adama leaned back in his seat, almost as if to return to his pondering.

"Oh no you don't, Adama. You're not getting out of it that easy. With an intro like that, you'd think that Simpson knows of an unexploded weapon somewhere on Caprica," Cain gently joked.

Pausing a moment to look him square in the face, Cain's features began to take on a look of concern as she realized that she might not be too far from the truth.

"Please don't tell me I'm right. 'Cause for a while I was beginning to believe that Tim was covering up that he is gay and his marriage to Sarah is a cover."

A great guffaw erupted from Sarah. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Admiral, but Tim is heterosexual as they come. Mind you," she mused for a moment, "I figure that would be a good way to remove some of his moodiness and improve his compassion a little."

"But if that's not it, what is it?!," she spouted in frustration.

With the rest of the passenger compartment in wrapped fascination, Adama realized he'd have to treat this like a bandage; pull it off in one go and hope for the best.

"According to the Tau'ri investigation," Adama announced, "Terra, the home of the 13th Tribe of Kobol, was originally made up of Humans and Cylons, working side by side as equals."

There was a moment of absolute silence as each of the passengers attempted to comprehend what had just been said. There were many fish imitations as mouths opened and closed without a sound being made.

"This can't be true, Bill," Cain sputtered as she finally regained her voice. "Tim must be seriously demented if he thinks I'll ever believe that. Doesn't he remember what we've just been through?! Doesn't he remember what the Cylons tried to do to us?!"

And as the others gave voice to their own indignation, washing Admiral Adama in their vile derision, Adar sat back to watch and ponder. Although he agreed with the opinions of the others, he also knew that Adama wouldn't be saying these things without good reason. Just like during the interrogation months ago, the man had kept his integrity throughout the proceedings. And now, like then, Adar chose to hold his opinions to see what the man had to offer in his defence.

Allowing the others a moment longer to speak their piece, Adar raised his hand to bring silence back to the room.

"Speaking for everyone else here, I would normally consider that to be the biggest load of manure to be heading out to the back forty. But considering the man you are, I have to consider that he offered you a very compelling argument supporting his claim? And personally, I would have to ask 'Why would they even think this?'."

"As for proof, "began Adama, "Admiral Simpson said he would be transmitting their archaeology findings from Terra in the next three hours. He claimed that it would confirm most of their claims. And then he asked an interesting question."

"Findings?," scoffed Baltar, "I think I could put compelling documentation together in my sleep that would prove to you that white is red. Anyone could do that."

"Normally I would agree with you, Doctor," Adama patiently replied, "But then he offered us something that seemed to lend credence to what he was claiming. If you wouldn't mind, would you please inspect the contents of the box over there?"

As if he was amusing a fawning child, Baltar carelessly placed the box on a folding table in the centre of the room. After methodically unlatching and removing the lid, he gave the contents a cursory glance.

"So? It's a Centurion's head. What of it?"

"Indulge me, Doctor. Take a closer inspection."

Giving an exasperated sigh, Gaius withdrew a penlight and stylus from a side pocket and began to look deeper.

"So, what we have here is a standard Centurion head. The optical receptor appears to be slightly misaligned, mind you the cranial framework isn't what I would expect to see. Possibly an earlier experimental model, I suppose." Looking lower, he continued. "The neck actuator... Wait a minute."

Baltar looked over his shoulder to glare at the Admiral.

"Did Simpson assemble this head to make a point?," he growled. "The actuator isn't where I expected it to be."

"Anything else, Doctor?," Adama nudged calmly, "aside from the Vocoder and Aural receptors."

With a puzzled look on his face, Gaius turned back to the exhibit to perform a more intense scrutiny.

"This can't be a standard model, early or otherwise," he sputtered. "The data/power wiring harness is not in its usual location. In fact it's thicker than normal."

Looking back at the Admiral, Baltar speared him with a puzzled look.

"This was never one of our mainline models, early or otherwise, was it? Was this an early prototype of some sorts? Because there are some innovations used here that I've never seen being used on a Centurion before."

"That's funny, Doctor, because that is the head of a production line Centurion. This model was released from the manufacturing plant in 1939 ACE."

Gaius returned a confused blank look to the Admiral.

"From a factory just outside Delphi.

"We have no Cylon facilities outside of Delphi," Baltar protested.

"On Terra."

"So it is true," muttered Adar. Taking a deep breath, he slowly eased himself into a seat, slowly scrubbing his face with both hands. He could see a cultural nightmare looming on the horizon. But only the lords knew how they were to weather this and come out intact.

"Oh, Zeus," he groaned aloud. "How are we supposed to get through this?"

"That's funny," came a comment from the other side. "That was the same tone Tim had when he finally found out about the Cylon's origins."

"And can I suppose he gloated about their greater wisdom of how to handle it," Cain carped.

"Not really. He looked as if he'd lost plenty of sleep worrying about how this would change us as a people."

"So now he's decided to look after us like a parent looks after their children?"

"No," Sarah responded, feeling a little confused. "It felt more like how a big brother would."

"Still," interrupted Baltar, "where does this put us? This information, if it is true, will set the Colonies on its ear if it ever gets out! Does someone have any idea how we're going to control it?"

"For that, Doctor, I would ascribe to the wisdom of Athena," the priestess offered. "When she encountered something new and unknown, she would withhold it from the others until she had a better understanding of its nature. Likewise I suggest that this man/machine relationship be kept quiet for the time being. By all means let the worlds know of the tribe's existence and ultimate fate; they deserve that much. With Terra being so far off, it will take time to get there and to explore it and what it contains. By that point in time we might have a better idea how to break the news."

"Can you be sure of that, Priestess?," enquired a solemn Baltar.

"Can you, Mr. Baltar? All I know is that in the span of a couple of days, years of faith and acceptance have been turned upside down. Things I had believed on faith have now been questioned in ways I had never expected. I suspect soon some of your accepted theories and scientific facts will go through similar upheavals. All I can offer is that, like myself, you take the time to think, pray, and hope that the Lords will guide you through this turmoil."

"Bill," Helena began, after a minute of pensive silence, "you commented that along with the Centurions head, Tim had asked an interesting question. What was it?"

"All he asked was, 'Considering what we had just gone through with the Cylons, how would we respond if we were to encounter a truly non-human life form?'."

As with all tragic events, there were some that wanted to know, to accuse, even to blame for the misfortune that had taken place. It didn't matter that the event had taken place centuries before. An eye for an eye; someone had to take responsibility for what went on.

The response was as comical as it was sad. Regardless of the Fleet's attempts to keep the nosy public at bay, some creative pilots successfully worked their way past. There they made it their mission to confront the Tau'ri, going nose to nose with the great war carrier to demand that they 'come clean' and admit to their part in Terra's hapless demise. In each case the only response they got was a tractor beam grabbing hold and moving the raptor, and its startled occupant, to the hangar of a nearby battlestar.

"I'd love to laugh at this if it wasn't so pathetic," muttered Simpson. "This is the, what, the fifth challenge so far? Something tells me that it's not going to be the last."

"It tends to remind me of a kitten worrying the hell out of the tail of a mountain cat," observed Colonel Green. "More noise than bite, if you ask me. Now the silent ones observing from the sidelines, those I'd worry about."

"To quote a famous past president, 'Eternal vigilance'?"

"Quite right."

A notifying beep broke the easy calm that had settled on the bridge.

"Admiral, there is an incoming transmission from Earth. It's General O'Neill asking for you."

"Priority, Ms. Harvie?"

"Normal, sir."

"Put it on the main screen, Lieutenant."

There was a momentary burst of static before the image of the General's face loomed back at the bridge.

"Admiral Simpson! Good to see you alive and well. I can assume that the reports of your demise were a bit exaggerated?," he began, an impish twinkle in his eye.

"My demise?," Simpson sputtered.

"Doctor Jackson had Sergeant Yamoto forward a copy of his report about your and Captain Simpson's ... discussion, shall we say. As everyone who read it could testify, this was more of an internal issue and was not something we here on Earth should have any involvement in the matter."

O'Neill chuckled. "Mind you though, with the increased naval involvement, the betting pool is getting more of a work out than during some of the SGC's wilder days. Don't be surprised if you get pumped for insider information the next time you report back to the admiralty."

Simpson groaned behind his hands. "That was never the intent, Sir."

"I know, I know. But kids will be kids," O'Neill nodded. "From the formal side of things, Woolsey and Daniel have already filed their reports on the status of the negotiations. According to them, the Colonials are a little rattled by some of the disclosures so far. And, I agree with your thoughts of withholding the news about the Galleon for the time being. How do you see things, knowing them as you do?"

"I thought I'd summarized it rather completely in my report, Sir."

"You did. But I began seeing things between the lines you might say, things that you might have left out. Care to fill me in?"

Resting his chin in his hands, Simpson took a moment to think the past few days through.

"As you just mentioned, the news about Terra has them unsettled. Many who enjoyed the position of armchair General are scrambling to reassess the situation, considering that no one had considered this sort of outcome. Some pathetic souls have even considered challenging us, thinking that we had something to do with it. Thankfully, so far, they have been very few."

"The Government and Military, on the other hand, are taking a more willing stance to work with us. But not without some sort of quid pro quo. For their willing participation, they'll be wanting some of the shiny new toys for their arsenal. As far as I know Daniel has informed them of what we're willing to do and the legitimate limitations that we are working under, but I can't emphasize the amount of skepticism there has been shown over that explanation, even by Senator Adama."

"As I would respond if I were in their shoes," the general responded with a sigh. "Can I assume that they will still want to go through with the treaty?"

"Barring anything unforeseen," came Simpson's reply, "yes, I believe they will."

"Good. Do you know of anything we need to send your way to ensure the treaty signing is considered legit?"

"Just ensure that the Deputy PM is present. Don't forget to include the tilt-thruster transport done up in Tau'ri One markings. The Kaga's transports have done okay so far, but we need to show them we mean business with this treaty. Flying the official colours, as it were, would leave a good impression."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Well, is there any chance you could liberate Colonel Harris from the Galleon study? It's been a while since I've heard of anything they've found in those old station logs. From what I've just learned about the Cylons, I'm figuring that could fill some of those holes we were seeing. And finally, God only knows when we're getting back here. He and Susan need a chance to talk and work things out, if that's possible."

"I'll keep Lt. Cmdr Green informed about this, Admiral," O'Neill responded.

"Lt. Cmdr? When did that come about, Sir?"

"When our Naval counterparts pointed out our inconsistencies," O'Neill groaned. "Expect an updated memo on the changes to your command when you return."

"Yes, sir."

"When Harris get in contact with her, are you expecting a repeat of your little discussion with the missus?," O'Neill pondered, grinning from ear to ear.

"Not really. Susan has this fascination for the celebrity lifestyle, something she gets very little herself. I was thinking of giving her her own 15 minutes of fame as a parting gift for all the crap I believe she has gone through. And at the same time I was thinking of wowing the natives, if you get what I mean."

"Not really, but make sure you get a video clip of it. Something tells me what you have in mind is going to be a whopper."

Presidential Retreat

Pan Wilderness Retreat

Caprica

Whatever hopes Adar had begun this process with had been stripped away from the start. What was supposed to be the crowning achievement of his career was quickly becoming something else as the talks progressed. From the beginning the Quorum and various interest groups had been pressuring him to force these human upstarts to accept their 'heritage' and bring about the peace and prosperity the lords had always intended for them. It was for the good of the Colonies and for all of mankind, they kept repeating in the background.

'Good for the Quorum,' Adar thought to himself.

Adar could only wish that the Quorum would see the reality of it all. These 'Tau'ri' not only had the technology to backup their claims, they also had the depth of character to accept the things that were happening all around them. Any attempts to coerce or cajole them to rally under the Colonial banner was meeting with stiff resistance and, as he could clearly see, eventual failure. But like the tortures of Tantalus, the more he strove to reach some sort of compromise, the more it seemed to slip beyond his reach.

During one of the infrequent recesses, Adar stepped to a side table to refresh his parched throat. It was becoming clearer with each passing hour how both the church and Quorum were disappointed with how little the delegation had accomplished. And while the prior talks had tended to drag, this session seemed to be without end, due to the enforced changes to the delegate list. Adar could only hope and pray for the energy to endure this trial.

"Can you believe the audacity of these people?," and oily voice muttered aside Adar. "To think they believe that they should control all of this technology when it should rightfully under the Quorum's control!"

'More like under your control, Councilman Uri?," Adar thought to himself.

"The biggest problem is that some of that technology we've seen is light years ahead of anything we presently have," Adar growled at the unflinching Uri, "and it is based on principles that even our brightest are having troubles comprehending. Even Dr. Baltar is at his limits trying to figure out how those 'tractor' beams were able to move the Raptors, even with the engines at full burn. This is clearly something we need to get our hands on, but I for one will not intentionally piss them off trying to get it."

"And that is why the Quorum is less than impressed with your results so far," Uri sneered. "Both it and the Church have instructed me to take over these negotiations. Under my control we will get the results we deserve. The results the lords say we are owed!" And with that Uri stalked off.

"Can I assume that not all is well in paradise, Mr. President?," a quiet voice intruded.

"Who...," Adar started, turning on his heels. "Mr. Woolsey! Sorry, but you startled me. Unfortunately I have to inform you that there is a problem. There are some that think that the negotiations are not going the way that they should be. I know you've advised us on the limitations of what can be passed on, but the Quorum has insisted that Councilman Uri take over to ensure its agenda is fulfilled."

"And our interests..."

"Will be noted and then promptly ignored as you are pressured to cave into their demands, and you are dragged back into the Colonial fold."

"I see. And there is no way you can work around this?"

"Unfortunately no. I understand we don't exactly see each other eye to eye, but I've come to at least appreciate the limitations you are working under. I just hope you won't see the ugliness of the few as the entire Colonial attitude. I just wish we could simply remove this problem."

"And would there be any objection if it was?"

"And what do you mean by that?," Adar responded a little more loudly.

"Shh. Don't get me wrong, Mr. President. I wasn't implying that the problem be eliminated, just that it was moved to the side. For expediency, you understand."

Adar thought for a moment.

"I'm not sure how that could be done, but for the sake of the talks I'd be all for it. What did you have in mind?"

"Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies. This way you can honestly say you had no knowledge of forethought into what was going to happen."

The meeting had barely reconvened when Councilman Uri rose and glared at the Tau'ri Delegation.

"As much as you think you are a major player in the galaxy," he began, placing the knuckles of his fisted hands on the table, "I'm now here to tell you, that in reality you are but a small part in an even bigger picture. And the sooner you accept this fact, the better it will be for everyone involved."

"Is that so, Councilman...," Richard Woolsey commented, pausing to check his notes, "Uri? Is this supposed to be the humane way of telling us that you'll be taking over for everyone's benefit?"

"Yes," came the councilman's reply. "It's shocking and downright insulting the pitiful trinkets you've offered us so far in comparison to the treasure trove you apparently have at your disposal. You seem to have no idea how to share that wealth with the rest of us. Therefore it behoves me to begin those lessons right now. In the name of the Quorum of the 12 Colonies, I demand that you turn over all technology and its knowledge to the Colonial Quorum."

Richard Woolsey paused for a moment to take a breath as he made a close study of the Councilman. "And I suppose being a ruling member of this all important Quorum gives you the right to make demands such as these?," he growled indignantly.

"Yes it does. The 12 Colonies of Man have been mandated by the lords to guide humanity, in its various forms, along the true path. Even if you are not our 13th Tribe, as you claim, you are still human. And as such you come under our purview, our guidance, and our control. Besides, 'Tau'ri'?," Uri wrinkled his nose. "What sort of childish name is that? Certainly nothing a mature Colonial would accept, I assure you."

Slowly rising to his feet, Woolsey returned the look of disgust as he glared into the councilman eyes.

"Councilman, throughout the ten to 40 thousand years of documented Tau'ri history, I have neither seen nor heard of anyone finding even the remotest reference to the 12 Colonies of Man, nor their home world, Kobol. Your DNA, provided by Captain Simpson, when compared to ours indicates that our two strains of humanity went their separate ways even further back than that. This in essence simply means that there is absolutely no claim one society can make on the other. And for you to believe you can do this, in face of the undeniable historical facts, smacks of sheer lunacy."

"And for the record, the name 'Tau'ri' was bestowed upon us by first our enemies and then our allies as we made our way through the galaxy; races who's own history is longer than both ours combined. So let us introduce you to the galaxy properly before you encounter someone you are really going to regret meeting."

"How pathetic," sneered Uri. "When the prodigal child returned home, we would have hoped for a more mature and humbled attitude. But instead we get childish excuses from a childish tribe. Heads full of fanciful tales, expecting to save his 'ignorant' brethren from the savagery of the wilds of space." He shook his head in disgust. "I, for one, have heard enough and will not stand for it any longer. Do as you have been told by your elders, child!"

Woolsey and Jackson looked at each other in patent disbelief. 'Is this guy for real?,' they both wondered to themselves.

"Is that your final decision, sir?," requested Mr. Woolsey, as he again faced the Councilman.

"Yes it is! Now do it!," Uri replied in a near scream.

Woolsey took a moment to tap his right ear.

"Woolsey to Kaga. Did you get that, Admiral?," he commented looking directly into Uri's eyes. There was a pause. "Two metres in front of me." Again another pause. "At your discretion," was the final comment.

For the longest moment Uri stared back in frustrated confusion. But then, as a singing built in the air, the Councilman vanished in a flash of light and a quick chime.

Near pandemonium broke out on the Colonial side of the table as delegates leaped to their feet, some racing from the room as others search furtively for the source of the flash. Adar, surprisingly, was the exception even though his personal security force were frantically trying to get him to leave the room. Glancing across at Richard Woolsey, he raised an eyebrow as if asking an unvoiced question. The miniscule nod in return was all he needed to know.

"Mr. Woolsey," he pronounced for all to hear, "would you mind a 30 minute recess as we gather our thoughts?" The others looked on as if Adar was insane. "I would like to finish these talks soon, if that is agreeable."

"Certainly, Mr. President," Woolsey replied. "We shall patiently await your return."

It was with great trepidation that the talks resumed shortly after. Fearing for their own safety and continued existence, several of the Quorum sponsored delegates failed to return to the negotiation table, relying instead on remote camera coverage to monitor the ongoing events to fulfill their mandated obligations.

"In an attempt to put the previous unpleasantness behind us," President Adar began, "I would like to begin this session..."

"By demanding an apology from these 'Tau'ri' upstarts for their unacceptable treatment of the distinguished Councilman,' came the shrill retort.

A forced sigh whistled past Adar's lips as he turned on his heel to face the interloper.

"Belloby! This was made painfully clear during the recess. Uri's aggressive stance to securing your agenda was doing more harm than good to these negotiations!"

"And I suppose you sanctioned his 'elimination' to smooth things over," the woman caustically replied. "I really wonder how warmly the population will take to your new methods of removing the opposition."

"President Adar had no knowledge of what was to take place," Woolsey responded. "And for your information, Madame, the councilman was not eliminated but rather moved to Lake Morfi for a well deserved time-out."

The scientific delegates were beside themselves, having witnessed the practical application of something they had believed impossible.

"But regardless of your views of his character, the councilman was attempting to bully us into conceding into your agenda. Both he and you are still working under the misguided belief that we are your 13th colony, or at least their descendants. Nothing could be further from the truth."

"There is something you have to understand. We are our own world with our own society, and we are proud of what we have become. With the pain, suffering and conflict we have gone through, we've accomplished what many thought was impossible; a unified world government. And we're proud of that. Although it's been a few short years since we emerged into the galactic eye, we've already made a name for ourselves to both our enemies and allies alike.

So to give this all up to someone who simply claims they have the right by Manifest Destiny is suffering from delusions of grandeur."

"But seeing as we are all human," Belloby spat in return, "why can't you see fit to share this technology for the benefit of ALL mankind. It just shows how childish you are by hoarding it all to yourself."

"What you see as childish hoarding, is in fact a level of responsible assessment. We've seen what too much technology too soon in the wrong hands can do. An individual, named Orlin, wanted to help a beleaguered world. This world, Velona, was under the dire threat of destruction at the hands of an even greater force, the Goa'uld. At their request, he had orbital defence satellites put in place to defend them. And in the end, the planet was saved."

"See! There is proper help through sharing," crowded Belloby.

"Unfortunately the situation did not end there. What he did not anticipate was that after the threat had been removed, the Velonans used the knowledge they had gained from the satellites to develop offensive weapons of their own. In their fear that there would be a return of a threat to their society, they chose to control their region of space. As a result, they became an even bigger threat to nearby systems."

The atmosphere of the conference room became suddenly quiet.

"The original owners of the satellites, disgusted with Orlin's blunder, forced him to watch as they turned the satellites on the Velonans themselves, destroying every scrap of that society. They then marooned Orlin on the dead world to pay his penance for choosing so poorly."

Rising, Richard Woolsey buttoned his suit jacket before continuing to address his counterparts.

"It is with that thought in mind that we offered to create an alliance between our two peoples. But this means you have to understand that we are not subject to you, just like we need to understand that you are not subject to us. I realize that you have traditions and expectations that were handed down to you from your 'Lords of Kobol', the first of these is that you are to be responsible for all versions of mankind in the galaxy. I'm sorry to inform you that is not the case, and that you will need to come to terms with it in very short order."

"The alliance we are proposing is not one of master/slave, or teacher/student, but one of allies. Colleagues even. While in time it is our hope to share what we have, it will depend on how you respond. If you were to agree to this, you would not be the only ones who would want to ensure that everything went well. The galactic community would also be watching, holding the Tau'ri themselves responsible for your actions."

Although cowed for the moment, Councilwoman Belloby continued to glare daggers at the Tau'ri delegates.

"For the moment, I can't see anything else that can be covered by these talks," commented Adar. "So, if there is nothing else to be discussed..."

"I'm just a little confused on one small point," intruded Dr. Jackson.

"And I'm surprised," responded Belloby. "A learned man like yourself, confused? Given all that we've covered and argued about, what could possibly remain to cause you problems?"

"You still believe us to have descended from your fabled 13th colony, correct?"

"In my mind, there is no other explanation."

"Then I have a hypothetical question about Family traditions. As I understand it tradition dictates that the eldest child is usually the first to leave home. And if the 13th departed Kobol 2000 years before the forced exodus of the other 12," he paused, calmly looking back at Belloby, "wouldn't that brand them as the elder tribe instead of you?"

AN: I know some people are going to ask about the tractor beams that the Kaga use they are base off the tech they Asgard used to two The Prometheus just not as advance.


End file.
